One Love, One Lifetime
by dreamdescend
Summary: Christine has chosen Erik instead of Raoul. Now two fragile, emotional people must resolve their differences, work through their problems and learn to live and love together while escaping from Paris. ALW with Kay and Leroux detail.
1. Chapter 1

**One Love, One Lifetime**

**Summary: **Christine has chosen Erik instead of Raoul. Now two fragile, emotional people must resolve their differences, work through their problems and learn to live and love together while escaping from Paris and their past. This is based off the movie, with tons of book influence and details, especially from Susan Kay's _Phantom_. However, even if you haven't read the book, this story will still make sense.

Keep in mind, this story is not just fluff. It does have some, of course, as it is a romance, but Christine and Erik won't be falling into each other's arms and calling each other "darling" and "honey" in the first three chapters. The only reason he calls her "dear" in this story is because he does it in both the Leroux and Kay books. :D It just doesn't sound so sappy when he does it.

So, if you're anxious for some E/C fluff, and are frustrated not to find any in the first few chapters, don't be discouraged! Keep going, dear readers. Fluff is on the way.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Phantom of the Opera. :sigh:

Chapter 1

Their lips parted from the searing kiss, and Erik stared into Christine's shining blue eyes, wide open and staring at him.

She loved him – in some way or another, she loved him. He wanted to weep for the beauty of it. And he wanted to weep for guilt. He wanted her love; he wanted her passion and beauty, her sweetness and innocence, he wanted everything that was Christine. Yes, she loved him, he knew it now and it was the sweetest thought that had ever entered his mind – but she could not love him as much as she loved that boy.

Tears streamed down his face as he remembered her words:

"The tears I might have shed for your dark fate

Grow cold, and turn to tears of hate!"

Christine must hate him; hate him for trying to force her to love him. But there was no other way, his mind cried, other than by force how else would she have loved the monster that hid in the dark and shadowy cellars five levels below the splendor of the grandiose and glittering Opera Populaire?

She was staring at him now in bewilderment, staring at the tears that coursed down his face. He could hear the mob coming, hear their angry yells and tramping feet. He couldn't let them find Christine here. No, not his Christine.

Almost choking on his anguish, he pushed past her, gesturing wildly to the Vicomte, still bound to the portcullis.

"Take her, forgive me, forget all of this…"

Erik's feet were heavy under the water as he dragged them to the shore, tears blinding him. He nearly stumbled as he stepped onto the gravelly land.

"Leave me alone - forget all you've seen..."

He whirled around, venting his sorrow the only way he knew how – through anger.

"Go now - don't let them find you!" he shouted, his features twisting into rage in an attempt to disguise his grief.

Christine was still standing in the water, her hair slightly mussed, the confused expression still on her face, staring at Erik.

"Christine," she heard Raoul say, "Christine, help me…" Automatically she moved towards him, sloshing through the water, her gown beginning to sink. She untied the ropes that bound him almost mechanically, her brain still processing what had happened only moments before. When Raoul was free he grabbed her and clung to her, and she let him; but his touch was different than it had been ever before.

No, Raoul's touch was not different, she realized as he shed the last of his ropes, she was different. In the past few minutes, she had changed, had been altered irrevocably.

She heard Erik cry out again. "Go now, and leave me!" She heard the harsh clank of lever, and the grate began to rise, raining water down on both her and Raoul.

Raoul was tugging at her arm, but she couldn't move. She seemed rooted to the spot, staring at Erik, frozen in time with her heart pounding in her throat.

"Erik…" she whispered. Their gazes met, and her heart wrenched at the pain she saw burning in his eyes.

"Go," he replied brokenly, "Just go…"

"Erik," she repeated. Raoul pulled at her arm again, but she was already moving away from him through the water, tugging at her sodden gown.

She stumbled up onto the shore, the dress dragging on the ground, the sodden fabric clinging to her skin and seeming to weigh a hundred pounds.

Erik was standing up the small flight of steps, chest heaving, staring down at her hopelessly. "Leave me, Christine."

"Please?" she whispered plaintively. Erik waved his arm in Raoul's direction. "Go, go with him!"

"No!" she cried, tears welling up in her eyes. She heard Raoul's gasp of incredulity, heard Erik's sharp intake of breath. She felt childish, knew her tone sounded juvenile. But there was nothing else to say.

"Christine!" Raoul shouted. "Come, we must go now!"

She shook her head, staring at the ground, her damp hair hanging in her face. "No, Raoul… no…" She couldn't form a coherent sentence – her chest was ripping in two, her pulse drumming in her head, breath seeming almost painful. She forced her head up and met Raoul's eyes. He stared at her for a moment before glancing in the direction of the mob's voices, gazing at Christine once more, then plunging away through the water with a cry of anger.

She gazed after Raoul for just a heartbeat before she turned to meet Erik's gaze. He was staring at her in disbelief, raw emotions etched on his face. They stared at each other for a moment longer before Erik shook his head and whirled away.

He ran down the steps and pushed the lever, the grate grinding closed just as the flickers of torchlight began to glow at the very backs of the caverns.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: I just want to say thank you for all the reviews I've been getting! You all seem pretty happy with what I've written, I hope you enjoy what I'll write next :)

Chapter 2

Erik glanced around him wildly, seizing his cloak and throwing it on. He whirled around to the nearby desk, grabbing almost anything his hands touched and shoving it into the cloak's hidden pockets – a thick sheaf of papers. He wrenched open a drawer and pulled out a small bundle of money, stuffing it into the cloak.

His mask was resting on the desk too, and his fingers lingered on it for just a moment before stuffing that into his cloak too.

Christine watched him, her heart drumming in her chest, adrenaline pounding through her veins. _What are you doing? _a voice in her head cried. _Foolish girl, this is the Phantom, the Opera Ghost, And he is going to steal you away! _But when she looked at him, she didn't see the Opera Ghost, the monster that everyone claimed he was… she saw Erik, the angel, the man she loved. Loved! Did she love him? Yes, she loved him!

Her thoughts were interrupted with a jolt as Erik snatched up a tall candelabra and smashed it with all his strength into one of the many mirrors. He swung it into the mirror again and the smooth plane of glass shattered, the pieces flying everywhere to reveal a gaping black hole.

She involuntarily gasped, drawing away in instinctive fear of the unknown. Erik whirled around and ran to her, seizing her hand. But her feet seemed fastened to the spot, and he turned to her, his eyes seeming to pierce right through her. She remained unmoving, staring up at him, and he dropped her hand.

His voice was almost inaudible. "Will you come; or will you stay?"

She closed her eyes tightly, her blood pounding in her head; but it didn't block out the sound of the approaching mob, mounting louder and louder with each passing moment, the shouts and cries and heavy feet echoing throughout the underground lair.

Suddenly she heard one familiar voice rise above the others. "He took Christine!" Her eyes flew open. Raoul!

Raoul – her childhood sweetheart, her old friend. She had loved him, in some way, but she had been caught up into the attempt to change an old familiar relationship into something more, something safe and stable she could rely on. Yes, she had loved him – but as a girl loves a boy, as a child loves a playmate, not as a woman loves a man.

Her gaze met Erik's. His face was impassable, almost unreadable except for the tension in his jaw and the pain and tears shining in his eyes.

He held out his hand almost mockingly, as if he didn't expect her to take it. Christine stared at it, her mind flying back to that first night in her dressing room. _Come to me Angel of Music…_

She raised her head and met his eye resolutely; her expression was brave, although inside her heart was racing faster than seemed possible and her clenched stomach was a mass of butterflies. She stretched out a trembling hand and placed it in his.

Erik stared into her eyes, and opened his mouth as if to speak. But, with a swift glance towards the cave entrance, he turned away, cloak flaring out slightly behind him, and lead Christine through the gaping black hole.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Wow, I'm really surprised to be getting so many reviews. Thanks to all who've been reading! Someone said it was a shame that the chapters were so short – I'll work on that. :) There were some grammar errors in the last chapter – sorry about it, my spell check was screwing up.

Chapter 3

Christine almost automatically drew backwards as she was plunged into darkness. She couldn't see; the black air seemed to press on her eyes. Erik was moving quickly, leading her swiftly along by the hand – she stretched out her other hand to the side and touched craggy rock. All her muscles tensed in instinctive fear of her lack of vision, and stopped, the rocky ground digging painfully into her bare feet, her arm groping wildly in front of her.

"Do not be afraid." She heard Erik's voice, disembodied in the pitch black. "I know this passage well. You will not be hurt."

She took another tentative step forward, biting her lip at the pain of the rocks stabbing into her feet. "I… I can't."

"You will not run into anything."

"Its not that, it's just… my feet…"

Erik cursed softly. "I had forgotten about your lack of shoes." She felt his cloak brush against her and in one quick movement he swept her up into his arms and continued down the passage swiftly.

She felt safer this way, she realized, safe from the unknown dangers of the black and ominous passage. His cloak settled around her, and his arms were strong and steady. She found herself curling her fingers around the front of his shirt – she jerked her hand back, startled at contact of her hand against his bare chest.

Erik noticed her touch. It was fleeting, but he savored it, and almost laughed at the thought. So it had come to this – all the months of tutoring, of longing from afar; then her first visit to his lair, and the unmasking! He could still remember his humiliation and shame… but his thoughts continued running along the past events. Christine's engagement to that boy, the masquerade, and of course the disastrous Don Juan Triumphant... It had all lead up to this. A flight from the Opera House, bearing Christine away in his arms. What an unlikely turn of events!

He paused for a moment, his keen eyes scanning the near-black passage. His eyes were used to the darkness, and where others were able to see nothing, he was able to see his surroundings, though just barely.

The passage forked here. The right tunnel led up to a small hidden door beneath the main outer entrance to the Opera House, that he had only used once or twice. But the passage to the left, this was the way he must go. They, he corrected himself, not he. His days of solitude were over, the solitude that he had always thought he would be confined to for eternity.

He continued down the passage, Christine a light weight. The lower half of her dress was sodden and her hair damp, but it was such a beautiful thing to have her in his arms but he couldn't possibly be the slightest bit concerned about it.

Beautiful! What a mild word for the indescribable emotions that were burning in his chest. The months of teaching were not spent in vain, nor the long nights and the silent tears and the pain of unrequited love.

The raw agony of that unreciprocated devotion had been at last alleviated. She was here with him, wasn't she? At the last moment she had turned away from her Vicomte, turned to him with trusting eyes and placed her hand, heart and life in his.

But a niggling doubt jabbed the back of his mind like a burning hot needle. Why did she really leave that boy? Did she do it because she loved Erik? Or did she do it just to save her beloved Vicomte? The thought brought emotion choking to his throat and tears prickling to the back of his eyes, but he blinked them away. Not now – the time for tears was later. There were more important things to be done.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Christine was not exactly sure how much time had passed since they had entered the black corridor, but it must have been no more than fifteen minutes or so before Erik set her down in one quick movement. The ground was not jagged here – in fact, the rock was smooth, although bumpy and uneven.

She reached out to the wall, running her hands over it to orient herself in the dizzying blackness. Moments later though, a bright flame flared to life, illuminating a natural cave. The walls rose up to a point in the ceiling, and a tiny thread of water trickled down to run away through an unseen gap in the rocks.

The cave was very small, about half the size of than her own dressing room. There were several crates pushed up against the far side of the cave. One of them was open, and she saw that Erik had pulled from it a thick candle and lit it with a little box of matches.

He knelt beside the crate, pulling out more candles and lighting them. The cave grew brighter, and Erik stood up, the candles casting a long sinister shadow of him on the ground, making him look almost menacing.

"We'll be staying here tonight," he said slowly, glancing around him. He settled onto the floor in one fluid motion, crossing his legs gracefully.

Christine followed suite, kneeling down on the hard ground and tucking her legs under her and to the side and spreading her dress over them modestly.

"Still concerned about decorum, I see," Erik said suddenly, "Even under these circumstances?"

She glanced up at him, sitting with his cloak spread about him like a soft black shadow. "What?"

He settled back against the wall, not losing his poise. Amazing, Christine thought, how someone with a wrinkled shirt and such disheveled hair could still retain a sort of elegance.

"Nobody is here to see you now," he replied.

She frowned. "I know that."

"Then you don't need to be proper."

She looked down at her dress, spread carefully over her legs. The action had been automatic, she hadn't even thought before she'd done it. "I was just – "

"It doesn't matter." Erik cut her off. "You must sleep now, as uncomfortable as it may be."

She stared at him, bewildered. Why this sudden change of attitude? Minutes before he had carried her in his arms to prevent her hurting her feet. Now, it seemed, with entering the cave he had adopted almost a chilly manner.

"Have I… done something wrong?" she asked cautiously.

"No," he said curtly, but she sensed an underlying sadness in that one word.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I am alright," he replied.

"Your voice sounds… distressed."

"Distressed? Why should I be distressed? After all, you're just trying to save your precious Vicomte, nothing distressing about that at all." The moment he said the words, he wished he could snatch them out of the air and push them back into his mouth.

Christine gasped and stared at him. "What?"

He didn't say anything, just gazed off at the little stream of water tracing down the wall.

"Its perfectly alright my dear, you may confess it now." All his doubts were pouring out from his lips and it seemed he was powerless to stop them. "Yes, your Vicomte is safe, you can tell the truth."

Christine's mouth gaped open, and she snapped it shut, gritting her teeth in an attempt to hold back tears. "You… you must know that's not true." He didn't reply. "Erik?"

He passed his hand over his face with a weary sigh. "Try to sleep."

"Just… just because you have been rejected in the past doesn't mean you must doubt any good thing that happens to you," she blurted.

"Go to sleep."

"Or maybe I am not a good thing?"

"_Go to sleep!_"

She turned away, tears stinging her eyes and her jaw tense with anger. She curled up on the cold unforgiving ground, her back to Erik, her body close to the wall. Her muscles, used to her soft welcoming bed, soon cried out in discomfort, but she refused to let Erik see her move again.

Only minutes before, he had been an emotional wreck, a distraught, ruined man at the thought of her leaving him. For some reason she could not yet fully discern, she had chosen him – accepted the intense, powerful, passionate, and often-violent Opera Ghost over the kind, gentle, sunny Raoul. Now Erik seemed to have retreated behind an invisible wall of glowering sarcasm, and his cutting comments were almost enough to drive her back to Raoul's arms… almost. But she knew in her gut that even if he were here, her choice would remain the same. God help her, she did not know why. It was the Vicomte who had temporarily captivated her naïve heart; but it was Erik who had always owned her heart, mind, and soul.

After what seemed forever she passed into a fitful sleep. The smooth floor seemed to sprout daggers and jab them into her, no matter how she turned. Her body was wracked with shivers, and the cold seemed to seep through her bones, her dress remaining damp because of it. Somehow in the midst of her half-sleep, she felt a warmth settle round her like a soft cloud, and she recognized the touch of Erik's cloak before she drifted back into dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **First off, let me say wow, thanks so much to everyone who has been reviewing. It's so encouraging to read nice reviews! Here are a few things I wanted to say to some of the reviewers:

erik'sangel527: Yeah I _have_ to write Christine with some backbone... I want to stick to the character, but I don't think I'd be able write her without _some _guts!

Aeryn: I'm trying to stay as true to the characters as I can. I'm glad it's paying off!

PhantomInMyDreams, A. and Kytten: I'm _so_ glad you saw what I was trying to portray. I don't think that if Erik and Christine stayed together they'd instantly be all lovey-dovey and mushy. Their conflicts wouldn't have magically disappeared. They'd have to adjust to the situation and resolve the conflicts. Just wanted to mention that, lol…

Speak Out: Vicomte is French for viscount, its Raoul's title.

Sango-2099: Will try to make chapters longer… promise!

Inkie pinkie: takes gold star and sticks on shirt

Bulterphan: Thank you _so_ much! Your review gave me a humongous smile on my face. I can't believe your friends chose Raoul – crazy. Even my guy friends chose Erik, lol!

And another note –I researched 1870s Parisian fashion for this chapter, it was somewhat puzzling to me but I hope it all makes sense! In case it's too confusing with the dress/jacket thing, here is a little bit of what I had in mind.

http:img. the reviews, everyone said to keep updating…. Well just FYI I'll be updating almost every night. Enjoy:)

Chapter 5

Erik settled his cloak over Christine's shivering body, feeling a pang of guilt. She was used to a warm bed and a soft pillow – now she was reduced to a cold hard floor, without even a blanket or covering, her arm tucked beneath her head as a cushion.

Another pang of shame hit him in remembrance of his angry blurted words, her shocked expression. "Maybe I am not a good thing?" she had retorted. No, no, he could never let her think that! Never.

Erik slid silently from the cave, melting into the darkness like a shadow. Countless years ago he had prepared the little crevice in case of an emergency, but, never really expecting to use it, he hadn't stored any blankets, no clothes, and certainly no food. All there was were the crates with the candles and little jugs of water inside.

He moved swiftly down the dark narrow passage until he returned to the fork, and took the way up to the hidden door beneath the main entrance of the Opera House.

The passage sloped upwards here; his long legs stretched as the ground slanted gradually uphill, until he reached what looked like a dead end. He ran his fingers along the wall until he found the tiny knob that worked the door. He pressed it, and winced at the grinding noise the heavy slab of rock made as it slid back into the wall. He was doubtful anyone would've heard it, but still his senses were on alert and his body was tingling with nervous adrenaline.

Erik moved cautiously out of the passageway, slipping into the shadows cast by the huge steps outside the Opera House. It was very early morning, the sky just barely tinged with grayish pink. He jumped as the door closed on its own behind him, the flat slab of rock blending perfectly into the side of the staircase.

He stayed hidden in the shadows for several minutes, listening carefully. He could hear nothing except a dog barking faintly in the distance. It seemed that the entire city was asleep and ignorant of him.

Still, the thought didn't comfort the instinctive caution that crept out whenever he left his underground lair. Especially not now, with the police and patrons of the Opera on his heels.

He skirted alongside buildings, keeping in the shadows and under awnings until he reached a bakery. He picked the lock easily and slipped inside the darkened little shop. He moved quickly, pulling a paper bag from behind the counter and filling it with various breads and pastries.

He left the shop and flitted from store to store like a ghost, bundles piling up in his grasp and appearing tucked beneath his arms.

Christine stirred as she awoke, and before her eyes had even opened her stiff muscles were screaming in protest. She rose up on her forearms, her aching body shrieking its complaints.

She turned her head to see Erik sitting cross-legged on the other side of the cave. She would've thought he hadn't moved an inch since the previous night, if it wasn't for the new additions to the cave – several bundles and two paper bags. He was eating a hunk of bread, picking it apart almost elegantly. Her empty stomach groaned painfully at the sight of the food.

She sat up, her back to the wall. "Good morning," she said cautiously. "It… is morning, isn't it?"

Erik lifted his head and nodded, then swallowed. "Yes, it is morning." His face revealed no malice, and she wondered that his anger of the night before could be so easily laid aside. She would have to get used to his abrupt tempers and sudden mood shifts...

He picked up one of the paper bags and peered into it. "I'm right in assuming you're hungry?"

Christine slowly got to her feet, wincing at the ache of her muscles, and moved over to sit across from Erik. He held out the bag to her and she took it, delving inside and pulling out a sweet bun. She bit into it, her eyes almost closing in ecstasy as the rich sugary taste spread over her tongue. She couldn't remember ever being so hungry before.

Erik gestured to the other bag, and a little jug of water next to it. "Cheese, ham, and water, when you want it."

A few minutes Christine was full, and she finished off the meal with a swig of water from the jug. Erik watched her, then, when she set it down, said with a small smile, "I've been rather productive this morning."

He got to his feet – with none of the stiffness she felt, Christine noticed – and she realized that he was wearing a dark jacket and vest, and a black cravat tied neatly at his throat. He unfolded a bundle, and shook out several parts of a deep blue dress.

"I didn't know your measurements," he said almost apologetically. "And I do not know much about women's fashions."

Christine's heart sang at the sight of the gorgeous garments, and she took it from him with a smile. "Erik, thank you…"

He tilted his head towards her. "Now you won't be cold."

The dress was a rich sapphire, so dark it was almost black, with an underskirt of a slightly lighter shade of blue. The overskirt was long and full, drawn up in swathes with a small bustle in the back, and the bodice was almost jacket-like with a square neckline. It came with the necessary petticoats and underskirts. Christine ran her fingers over the obviously high-quality fabric, thinking _I could never have afforded something like this_.

She glanced at Erik, who raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem with it?" he queried.

"No, no, its beautiful…" She floundered for a moment, then stammered "I… umm… may I change?"

He blinked several times. "Oh. I see." He coughed, then turned around, linking his hands behind his back.

Christine retreated to the far side of the cave, pressing the dress to her. She hesitated, and, as if reading her mind, Erik said in an exasperated tone, "I will not peek."

She quickly shed the wrinkled wedding gown, glad to be rid of the damp crumpled dress, though it had been beautiful just the night before. She had on only her corset, sucking in a tight breath as the cold air chilled her bare body. Her face was not chilled though – her face was flaming in a red blush, for here she was, standing nearly nude, staring at Erik's back! She thanked God quickly that her corset was already on and tied, otherwise she would've had to ask him for his assistance!

She stepped into the petticoats and tied it behind her waist, following suite with the underskirt. She was momentarily confused by the jacket-style overskirt, as she hadn't worn one like it before, but she figured it out in just a few moments and hooked up the long string of buttons in the front.

Erik flexed his fingers, stretching his arms out behind him impatiently. "Are you finished yet?"

Christine finished the last few buttons and replied, "Yes, yes I'm done."

Erik turned as she was smoothing down the front of the dress. His eyes seemed to swallow her up suddenly, those eyes of blue-green like twin seas that were rapidly drowning her. His eyes roved over her, taking her in with a burning intensity, and his mouth parted slightly.

Suddenly he snapped them back up to her face, the power of his gaze reduced to just a flicker in his eyes.

"It… becomes you," he said softly, in a carefully controlled voice. He glanced down at the sacks on the floor, and knelt gracefully, delving inside until he pulled out a long black ribbon.

Erik walked towards her, threading the ribbon through his fingers. "I regret I could not find you a brush or a comb," he said, "But with this you may be able to tie your hair back out of your way."

He moved past and stood behind her, his fingers barely brushing her neck like a butterfly as he pulled back her mass of curls, tying it all together with the ribbon.

Déjà vu swept over her – it all seemed so similar to the previous night, the duet of _Don Juan Triumphant_… their passionate embrace, his hands on her cheeks and neck and waist… she shivered at the thought, and Erik's fingers suddenly stilled on her neck.

The pads of his fingertips barely traced a trail along her hairline and the nape of her neck, his hands dancing along her spine to caress her shoulders. She found herself tilting her head back to rest against his chest, and she could hear it in his throat when he muttered, "Christine…"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **I don't think my last chapter was my best... I'll try to do better with this one. Thanks again for the reviews!

Chapter 6

Erik stood behind Christine, his hands tracing over her neck, but otherwise frozen in position.

Last night he had believed he would be the happiest man in the city – no, the world – if Christine chose him over the Vicomte.

She had! But somehow the fact frightened him, made his hands hesitant and his mind panicky.

He had always been bold when in familiar territory – the Opera House had been _his_ domain. But now in this unfamiliar little cave, he felt his keen mind and sharp nerves begin to frazzle with doubt and uncertainty. Those feelings had always been accompanied by anger before, but easily quashed behind the louder and stronger emotion.

What was he supposed to do now? Before, he enchanted and bespelled her with his voice. Would she still feel the same way without the spell of his song?

He snatched his hands away suddenly, and Christine turned, startled. His face was frozen in a mask of concentration(A/N: no pun intended)and suddenly he spun around, kneeling quickly and extinguishing the candles with his fingertips.

He stood up and seized her arm, dragging her to him and flinging her against the far corner. She let out a cry but he covered her mouth with his hand, pressing her into the wall with his body.

She struggled for a moment, completely confused and frightened by his sudden violent actions, when she suddenly heard distant voices.

"How the hell are we supposed to search all this?" a rough man's voice bemoaned. "We won't even find our own way out, let alone find some bloody ghost!"

Shuffling footsteps echoed off the stony walls. "I doubt the bugger's even here anymore," another man's voice agreed, "I know I'd leave this miserable place damn soon as I got the chance."

A faint glow of lantern light bloomed at the entrance to the cave – Erik and Christine both tensed, holding their breaths as if a single gasp of air would reveal them.

The footsteps grew louder, closer, echoing ominously in the outside passage. Christine felt as if she would choke – her heart thudded frantically like it was trying to burst out through her throat. Frissions of fear scratched along her spine and she shivered, shutting her eyes tightly.

The lantern light bleeding in from the outside passage grew brighter, and Erik pressed her to him tighter. Despite his unmoving exterior, his heart was racing so fast and so frantically it was almost as if there were no space between each thud.

"Yes, bugger must've ran," the voice repeated. Suddenly there was a scrabble of rocks and the same voice cried out in pain.

"What is it?" the other man replied anxiously.

"I fell, cut my hand on the damn rocks," the first voice growled in frustration.

There was a shuffle of feet, and the second voice said, "You're bleedin' pretty bad. I'd get fixed up soon if I were you – lets go, I'm gettin' spooked down here anyway."

The first voice moaned a complaint, and the footsteps retreated, taking the revealing glow of the lantern with them.

The pair in the black cave remained unmoving for several minutes. Christine hardly dared to move – her muscles felt weak, and she swayed to the side slightly. Erik's hands caught her about the waist and steadied her.

He pulled away from her, and a moment later the candles were relit, and Erik began shoving things hurriedly into two traveling bags that had been stored in one of the crates.

"We must leave, now," he said without looking up. "I wished to wait until night, but obviously it's just not safe here anymore…" He laughed under his breath, mockingly and a little sadly. "But then again, was it ever?"

He stood up and retrieved his cloak from the opposite side of the room where Christine had slept with it. He swirled it around his shoulders like the wings of a bat and fastened it. He strode back and retrieved a smaller, hooded cloak from the pile of supplies.

"Pull up the hood," he said, handing it to her. "It will help disguise you."

The fabric was soft and thick and it settled round her body like a comforting blanket.

"Erik," she said as he knelt on the ground, gathering up the last of the results of his excursion. "Where… how did you get all this?"

He paused in the packing. "What?"

"Did you… steal it?"

His eyes turned flinty, and even though she stood tall above him as he kneeled, she felt as if she were cringing beneath his hard stare.

"If it suits you, you could just gallivant around in that wedding gown," he replied in mock calm, with derision laced through his words. "And barefooted too!" he tossed her a pair of shoes as he said it, and she fumbled as she caught one awkwardly, the other clattering to the floor.

He was right. She bit her lip, feeling a little foolish, and sank to the ground, pulling the black boots onto her feet and lacing them up. They were slightly too big, but she was grateful nonetheless.

"Thank you, Erik…"

He didn't reply, but his face softened as he fastened the buckles on the two bags and rose to his feet. His expression was weary, and he glanced around despondently, but his mouth was set in a firm line of resolve.

Standing there, with a traveling bag in each hand and in his gentleman's clothes, he looked for all the world like any ordinary man ready to set off on any ordinary journey. Except for the mask, of course. The mask… she couldn't even remember him putting it on this morning. Was she growing that used to it – and him?

She got to her feet, brushing the dust off her dress and meeting his eye apprehensively. "I… I'm ready."


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Sorry for the slow update, I've been having some trouble writing… my muse seems to be taking a holiday. Hope this chapter is okay.

draegon-fire: Erik is just instinctively doubtful and hesitant and somewhat distrustful at first, but he'll open up... oh yes he'll open up… :rubs hands together gleefully:

Sparrow's Pearl: I'm very very glad you think I'm doing a good characterization of Erik… I'm trying my best:)

Chapter 7

The weariness and gloom in his face faded abruptly, expression softening. _Damn these infernal mood swings!_ Christine thought. _He has a more unpredictable temper than a pregnant woman._ She clenched her jaw to suppress a grin, and he was tempted to tell him, but decided that it would not at all be wise.

He extended his gloved hand and Christine took it. He smiled at her - not a smirk or a sneer, but a real smile - and it made Christine's heart jump.

He brushed his lips over her knuckles and then swept his cape towards the cave entrance with a flourish.

"Mademoiselle."

It was almost a game to him, she thought suddenly. The mock politeness, the teasing formality - to hide another emotion?

"Erik?" Christine ventured. "Is there something wrong?"

He frowned slightly, looking slightly puzzled. "No, nothing is wrong."

She worried her lip for a moment, then blurted "Its just that… you've been acting like you wish I wasn't here!"

"No, Christine!" he replied, an utterly shocked expression on his face. "I don't wish you anywhere but here!"

"First you're angry with me, then you seem pleased, then you're snapping at me like Madame Giry during my ballet lessons! Do I irritate you somehow?"

Erik averted his eyes and paused for a long, long moment before he replied slowly, "Christine… I'm sorry if I have been... curt towards you. I am just… worried. Anxious."

He turned his head towards her, and the guilt written on his face made her long to reach out to him. "I don't want to cause you hurt, make you feel like you aren't wanted."

His eyes looked faraway, and Christine's heart panged when she thought of how he had been rejected; unwanted. Then suddenly his voice took on a completely different tone.

"You _are _wanted, Christine." His eyes looked bright and almost luminous in the dimness, and her pulse picked up pace under the weight of his gaze.

"Erik – "

Before she had even finished the word, his fingertips were at her lips, silencing her with the feather-light brush of skin. The pad of his thumb traced over her bottom lip ever so lightly and her breath shuddered out of her in one long rush.

His eyes lost their luminosity and darkened, the blue-green swirling with... desire. He extended his hands slowly, settling them carefully about her waist as if unsure of himself. He watched her face for a long moment, taking in her expression as if to be sure his touch was acceptable – then in one fluid motion he drew her against him, and her hands flew out automatically, splaying on his chest.

Their lips were inches apart, their breath mingling for a fraction of a moment before his mouth claimed hers in a cautious kiss…

She kissed him back, lust tingling through her entire body… but this was so much more than lust, she desired him in all his dark glory, mind body and soul… her arms wreathed around his neck as if they had a mind of their own, her fingers curling along the nape of his neck and up into his thick dark hair. He made a deep sound in his throat, muttering her name into her lips, "Christine…"

His hands pulled her more firmly to him – she gasped at the sudden intimacy of the full-body contact, but the sound choked in her throat as his hands explored her waist and hips, those elegant fingers caressing her like the hypnotic music that hummed through his body.

_What raging fire shall flood the soul _

_What rich desire unlocks its door?_

She thought she had understood those words - no, no she had had no idea! The kiss last night had been passionate, emotional - but also overwhelming, overpowering, their minds too high on the adrenaline of the situation to linger over the moment. But this was different...

Erik's lips moved to trace slow, hesitant kisses down her jaw line and neck, and she sucked in a sharp breath of air at the tingling pleasure on the sensitive skin. She arched her back hungrily, expecting more, but he merely held her tightly, his breath fanning out over her neck.

"Christine… I love you…"

He pressed his cheek to hers, the simple contact of skin of skin sending a flood of delight through him. He savored the feel of her in his arms, just her presence so close to him. He reveled in the mere feel of her hand in his hair, caressing his neck… he tensed suddenly when she ran her fingers over the edge of his mask, and nearly jerked away when she slowly pulled it from his marred cheek.

He jumped automatically, instinctively turning his head away, but she ran her small hand over the disfigured flesh with no reservations. "You're beautiful, Erik," she whispered as she tilted her head back, staring into his eyes. She touched his chest, her fingers finding his heartbeat. "Here – you're beautiful."

Tears prickled the backs of his eyes as he pulled her close again. Never in his wildest imaginings did he ever believe that she would be so willing to touch him, be near him… love him.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: **Crap, my muse needs to get back here RIGHT NOW. Sorry once again for the slow update and not-so-great chapter!

You know, I really should be putting a disclaimer on this thing, just in case the Copyright Police come and check out my fanfic…

Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera or any of the characters. Dammit.

Thanks to all reviewers! You make my day!

AmintaKitten: Thanks for the input! I do agree with you... I sometimes get paranoid about writing really "in-depth feelings" because I'm afraid of messing up the characters. I will work on that though!

eriksmyhoney: Your friend cried when she read this? Wow... if thats not flattering, I don't know what is. THANK YOU!

Chapter 8

Erik's heart jackhammered in his throat as he led Christine though the passageway he had just used that morning. He felt as if a dark cloud of foreboding loomed over him, and he gritted his teeth in an attempt to quell his racing nerves.

"Wait for a moment," he said as they reached the rock door. He passed the stub of dripping candle to Christine as he slipped his mask into his pocket and pulled a wad of white cloth bandages and began wrapping them around his face.

"What are you doing?" she asked, staring at him in surprise and confusion as he began tying knots tightly in various places around his head.

"You don't think I'd go out in my mask, would you?" he replied. "Or without." He finished quickly and turned back to Christine, a ghost of a grin on his barely exposed lips before it flitted away. "You will pretend I am your elderly father, wounded in the wars."

Christine suppressed laughter - his entire head was swathed in bandages, crisscrossing around the back of his head and over his face, leaving just his eyes, mouth and chin exposed.

"Yes, I know it looks foolish, but I have no better idea," Erik retorted as she let a giggle slip out. "I wanted to wait until nightfall, but we just can't risk it..."

He pushed a deep brown top hat onto his head and it slipped easily over the tightly tied layers of white cloth. Christine smiled again, amused at the image of him in a top hat, but knew that they must do all they could do disguise themselves. The bandages and the hat made him look realistic enough so that he really could pass for an injured old gentleman.

He took the candle from Christine and stubbed it out, slipping it into his pocket.

"Can't leave any trace," he whispered into the dark.

His voice was calm – he must keep it calm, for her sake – but his stomach churned with anxiety and he shut his eyes tightly for a moment, glad that Christine could not see his unease.

He took her arm. "Are you ready?"

She didn't say anything, but could feel her nod. "Good," he replied, and reached for the tiny hidden knob.

The harsh grinding of the moving rock was quieter than it had been earlier, but the sound still made his muscles tense, and he had to fight to stay where he was and not to flee back into the safety of darkness.

Brilliant morning light spilled into the corridor and he said to Christine in almost a growl, "Move."

She stumbled from the passage, the light blinding her. Before she could even stand straight, she could hear the door closing behind her, and Erik was at her side grasping her elbow, moving purposefully along.

"Stand up, walk," he said, trying to sound firm but unable to hide the note of panic in his voice.

People, people everywhere! Thank God it was a Saturday, and the market was open several blocks away – it meant that there were common folk everywhere. It did almost nothing to calm him… noise, faces, everywhere, all around, were they staring at him? Were they looking for him? Where were the police?

He linked his arm through Christine's and forced himself to go at a steady, sedate pace. "I'm elderly, I'm injured," he mumbled to himself. He repeated the same thing to her, louder.

"We must go slowly," he added. "We can't look suspicious. We're not running. We're not hiding." He said the last part mostly for himself.

They strolled along the cobblestones – oh, it was so hard to stroll when they really wanted to tear away from the hustle and bustle of it all – weaving their way slowly through the chattering crowds going to and fro. A stream of laughing children running through the sea of adults, a tight group of housewives gossiping, a pair of storekeepers talking shop… The mere sound of people's feet on the ground made him jump, the clatter of carriages passing made him want to take off running. His entire body was uptight, and the muscles in his back were beginning to ache from the tension.

People hardly gave them a second glance, but just in case Erik made himself move even slower, adding a slight limp for effect. It was easier said than done, when his body was screaming to flee to the nearest dark hole.

"Where are we going?" Christine whispered out of the corner of her mouth, keeping a tranquil smile pasted on her face.

"I know a man who can help us," Erik replied, "A man I knew from long ago…"

They sidestepped to get out of the way of an oncoming carriage. When Erik saw the coat of arms on the side he tensed – damn, he was getting frustrated with doing that – but the carriage passed by without stopping. He tried to force himself to breath naturally, but found he couldn't, and gave up the attempt.

There was a knot of police and official-looking men clustered at the opposite corner, talking loudly. Erik stiffened, resisting the urge to balk like a horse. He felt Christine's clutch on his arm tighten and he glanced down at her. Beneath the shadow of the hood her face was placid and serene, but her eyes were wide and frightened, darting back and forth, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she sucked in quick little gasps.

"Shh," he murmured, though he wasn't far from doing the same. As long as he preserved his calm façade, she would do the same – she was hinging on his strength right now. Mustn't let her see him afraid. Oh God, what had possessed him to do this, it was broad daylight, they would not make it –

They strolled past the knot of uniformed men, and Erik forced him to gaze straight ahead as if without a care in the world. He was just an elderly gentleman, out for a morning stroll with his daughter…

One of the men was looking at him! What was he looking at? Did he suspect? Erik let his gaze slide over to him for half a second, and the man glanced him up and down, frowned slightly, then shrugged to himself and turned back to his colleagues.

The pair continued past them, Christine nodding her head politely to one of the men who tipped his hat to her. Her jaw ached with the tension of keeping the pleasant expression on her face, and her knees felt weak, but she forced herself to keep walking at the same sedate pace, to keep a hold on Erik's arm.

They were nearly four blocks away from the Opera House, mingling among the flurry of people when Erik whispered into her ear, "Hail a hansom."

Her fingers fumbled as he passed her a small leather bag of coins, the weight feeling heavier than it should in her shaking palm. A hansom, yes, she could do that, she'd done it before…

She worked her way around a gaggle of chattering women and stepped closer to the road, and had to wait only for a moment before she flagged down a passing carriage. It clattered to a halt in front of her, and with flash of yellowed teeth the beefy driver said loudly, "Where to, Mam'selle? Messieur?"

She froze suddenly, not having a clue what to say. But Erik murmured in her ear, and she repeated automatically, "My father and I wish to go for a drive in the country."

The bulky driver eyed them. "That's quite a ways…" but his eyes lit up as Christine quickly stretched out her arm and handed the bag of money to him. His mustached mouth curved into a grin as he tested its weight in his hand, and he slipped the bag into the pocket of his faded coat and said, eyeing Erik, "Will he be needin' any help?"

"No, we're fine." Christine pretended to lead Erik to the carriage, and she reached for the door, swinging it open quickly and guiding him inside as she would've done for a frail old man.

She pulled herself in and sat down with a thud, exhaling a long rush of air and sinking back into the seat as the carriage pulled jerkily to a start.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: **Emotional chapter coming up.And thanks so much for all the reviews.

iluvdanbyrd: I love how you said about your fanfic "E/C of course"... there's no other way:-D

PhantomoftheSwimmingPool: You asked for another conversation... I had one planned. :) Hope its good.

HorseLady: No, I meant balk. From what I thought it means, it means like to stop dead or hesitate or shy away or just refuse to go on… I'm pretty sure that's the right meaning anyway. Maybe I just have crappy vocabulary, hehe. :)

Chapter 9

Christine let her eyes flutter close as the carriage lurched to a start. An overwhelming relief choked in her throat something like a sob, but she sucked in a deep breath to quell it.

She opened her eyes to see Erik sitting on the seat across from her. He had pulled shut the faded curtains on the windows, and was unwinding the bandages on his face. They were off quickly, and he looked at her with something like reassuring smile, but despite his calm expression, she could see his hands were trembling as he slipped his hand inside his pocket and retrieved his mask.

"Erik?" she said loudly. He jerked his head in her direction, panic skittering across his face before he resumed his composed pretense.

She got up, crouching as she moved beneath the low ceiling across the small interior of the carriage from her seat to his. She slipped in next to him, threading her arm through his.

"Erik, you're shaking."

He turned his eyes to hers, looking unnerved and almost sad. "How manly of me."

She frowned, and he settled back into his seat, closing his eyes. As his head turned away the white surface of his mask disappeared from view. He was in perfect profile now, and she could only see the smooth plane of his cheek and strong jaw line.

Although she knew that the twisted disfigurement lay just on the other side of that face, it didn't matter to her at all. Handsome or hideous, deformed or faultless, she loved him, all of him. If it were the other side facing her, even without the mask she would still feel all the love for him as she did now.

She reached out her hand and cupped his face. "Erik, are you alright?"

He opened his eyes and gazed at the empty space across the carriage. "For now."

If sapphire and jade were to fuse and create some strange jewel hybrid, it would be the color of Erik's eyes. But the beautiful twin pools of color were now troubled, strangely frightened even now in the safety of the carriage.

She settled into the curve between his body and arm, placing her hand gently on his chest. "Please tell me what's wrong."

He glanced down at her, then away. "I can't help but feel so… uneasy. Paranoid."

His chest rose and fell as he spoke, and he seemed to be having difficulty putting his feelings into words, expressing his thoughts. Its not as if he did it often, she knew. He could sing his emotions with an unparalleled power, she thought suddenly, compose music that spoke of every emotion possible… but simple discussion seemed to undo him.

"I feel guilty, Christine!" he burst out suddenly. "I risked our lives. I don't know who is out looking for me. You don't deserve this, if it wasn't for me – "

"No," she interrupted him, "You can't say that!"

"I can, and I will," he retorted. "I only speak the truth. You know its true."

"I know that what's true? That I love you, Erik… this running, this hiding, if this is what it takes…"

She broke off, and he circled his arm around her tighter, pulling her closer to him. She pressed her face into his chest beneath his chin, the silky folds of his cravat soft against her cheek.

"Christine," he murmured, his voice resonating in his chest. "_Ma cher_. I am just sorry that… I just feel as if I am dragging you through a mess." His breath caught in his throat. "I am afraid to see you hurt somehow, either in the body or in the soul..."

He broke off, and she tilted her head up, gazing at the side of his frowning face.

"This is not what I wanted..." His voice sounded rough, despairing, his eyes dark and sad. "I feel like a fleeing deer pursued by a hunter. But it's not me… I am worried for your sake, Christine…"

"Don't be!" she sat up straighter, her heart breaking at the naked emotions written on his face.

"I'm risking our lives," Erik continued, "Namely yours."

"I'm not going to die, and I'm not going to be hurt."

"I don't mean that I'm risking your life literally. I mean that I'm risking your future."

He passed his hand across his face with a heavy sigh. "Christine… you are youth and sunshine, beauty and innocence… you could've been the greatest diva in France. To condemn you to this life of… darkness and hiding… would be too cruel."

"Erik – "

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "That's why I let you go, Christine!" The words seemed to choke in his throat suddenly.

"You did it because you thought I loved Raoul."

"That too."

"That mostly."

"….yes."

Raoul had loved her in his own way. She knew that. He had showered her with affection, sweet sentiments and little gifts, hugs and kisses and kind words. But never had he shown this raw emotion like Erik did, this unbridled passion for everything emotion he felt, be it anger, sadness, fear, or love. It made her yearn for Erik all the more.

"You aren't condemning me to anything, Erik! I can still sing. You can teach me more. We won't be running forever – the search will stop eventually." She didn't know that for sure. Erik had killed at least two men. The cold hard facts stung her, but that's just what they were, facts. The question was, how far would the police of Paris be willing to go in the name of justice? Would they be trying to "rescue" her? The thought made her shiver in fear and anxiety.

"Please, don't be worried, we'll be together, we'll be safe…" she knew she was rambling, but all she wanted at that moment was to comfort him, and herself too, to dispel the air of foreboding that hung over them like a heavy cloud.

All the emotions of the past twenty-four hours were catching up to her, and she felt her eyes tearing up. The constraint strain on both their nerves was taking its toll, and this new outburst was like the straw that broke the camel's back.

She scrubbed at her face with the back of her hand, and sucked in a calming breath. She needed to be rid of the naïve child, the innocent girl that had begun to fade since that first night in his lair. It had vanished almost completely since then, but that little girl was still there hiding inside, just waiting for the moment to burst out and sob and cry and beat her fists on the floor. Figuratively speaking, anyway.

Erik turned his gaze on her suddenly. "I love you, Christine." He said the words forcefully. "Because of that, I don't want you unhappy or unwilling." He stared at her for a moment longer, then looked away.

Her heart wanted to break for him… rejected and unwanted for so long, so hesitant to accept or believe in the love of another.

He had naturally fabricated walls and barriers to shield his heart and mind. They had started to crumble as his love for her grew when he tutored her so many months ago, the tendrils of hope and devotion creeping in through the cracks and breaking down the barriers. They were quickly flung up again after that night on the rooftop with Raoul, and the thought made Christine's heart pang with shame and guilt. That was in the past – she would be able to forgive herself and forget. But could Erik?"

"Erik." She spoke his name slowly and clearly. He didn't respond, and she reached out and cupped his masked cheek gently, the tight leather surface hard and smooth beneath her fingers. She turned his face to hers, and he lifted his blue-green gaze to her own.

"I… I know I've done things that have hurt you," she began, the words hesitating behind her lips. "God, I wish I hadn't. But please… Erik, I wouldn't be here with you if I didn't love you. If I didn't want to devote my heart and soul to you, I would be back in Raoul's arms! But that's _not _what I wanted." His face swam in her vision because of the sheen of tears in her eyes, but she swallowed a sob in her throat and continued. "I'm not unhappy with the decision I've made. Don't be afraid that I'll change my mind. Don't worry that I'll have regrets."

She lowered her eyes and the movement set off the tears that had been barely clinging to her lashes. She felt the felt hot tears slide down her cheeks, the bumping of the carriage making them trace jagged paths down her face.

"The only regret I have is denying you until now. And I'll do whatever it takes to make that up to you."

Her hand was still on his cheek, and he turned his head slightly to the side and pressed a kiss into her palm. He reached up and took her hand, his fingers encircling her wrist like a bracelet, and drew her closer to him. She leaned into the comfort of his presence, her cheek pressing into his shoulder and smudging her tears as he held her tightly in the crook of his arm. He placed a lingering kiss on the top of her head amidst her curls.

"Christine, I love you…" he sang the words ever so softly under his breath. Just that one phrase in his melodic voice made her smile into his coat.

"I know."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** I hope I did this right… I hate the thought of messing up characters. Enjoy!

Theed: Star Wars reference? Please tell me where… it was completely unintentional, lol! Glad you liked it though, whatever it was :)

Bulterphan666: I think you might be my most faithful reviewer – thank you!

Nade-Naberrie: I'm so glad that chapter turned out the emotions I wanted!

Chapter 10

The pair sat together in silence for nearly an hour and a half, Christine's eyes growing drowsy with the dimness of the carriage interior due to the closed curtains, the lull of Erik's steady heartbeat and his fingers absentmindedly trailing through her hair. The movement of the carriage kept her awake though, the gentle rocking and occasional bumps and jarring startling her eyes open every few minutes.

But when the carriage lurched to a halt Erik sat up quickly, and as she fell back against the seat her eyes flicked open with a start, and she blinked rapidly to clear the haze of lethargy.

"'Scuse me?" came a loud voice that she recognized as the driver. The words came out in a question. Erik was scrambling for the bandages that had been discarded on the opposite seat, and the carriage creaked and swayed to the side as they heard the sounds of the driver's feet crunching on the gravel and snow.

"Go," Erik hissed, pushing her towards the door. "He can't see me!"

She thrust out her hands and shoved open the door, and she squinted her eyes tightly shut as the brilliant sunlight pierced her eyes.

She held her arm up in front of her face to block out the sun as her eyes adjusted, and she saw that the driver had left his seat and was now standing in front of her with a perplexed expression.

"Mam'selle, we've been drivin' for quite awhile…"

"Do you need more money?"

"No, you gave me plenty", he said with a satisfied grin. "I was just needin' to know where you and the gentleman will be wishin' to go next."

Christine worked her mouth uselessly for a moment. "Let me… speak to my father," she said finally, feeling foolish. She took several steps back and tugged at the door handle.

"He wants to know where to go next," Christine said in a lowered voice.

Erik was sitting straight-backed against the seat to avoid being in the view of the open door. "Ask him if he knows the Fishtail Inn."

Christine repeated the question, and the driver pondered for a moment, then nodded vigorously. "Yes, I know it. Right nice place. Run by some foreigner…." He glanced down the wide dirt road, shielding his eyes with his hand. "Only about ten miles or so from here, I think."

A few moments later they were on their way again. "Erik," Christine ventured, "Do you mind if we open the curtains? There's nobody around to look in."

Erik made a gesture of assent, and Christine scooted closer to the window, pushing the curtains aside.

The day was brilliantly sunny, surprisingly warm, and the golden light illuminated the countryside, sparkling off the thin layer of snow. The distant hills rose like gray-white waves, speckled with patches of brown and green earth revealed by the quickly melting snow. Dark clumps of trees dotted the landscape, the rustling of the branches on the side of the road seemingly close enough to reach out and touch.

She could see tiny green buds on the bare brown branches. Winter was fading fast, chased away by the promise of spring and new life. A new life, she reflected, lingering on the thought. What interesting timing.

She could hear a bird trilling in one of the trees they passed, and she smiled in spite of herself. Paris was stunning with its beautiful Gothic architecture and grand opulence, but it had been so long since she'd been outside the city that she was absolutely taken in by the more simplistic beauty of nature.

The landscape rolled past as the carriage rattled along the road. She let the sun warm her face, letting her eyes drift shut once more.

Not too long had passed when she felt the carriage turn and slow down. She rubbed her eyes and sat up, leaning closer to the window to see the new surroundings.

They had pulled into the gravel cul-de-sac of a medium-sized two story stone building, with ivy and what looked like honeysuckle creeping up the sides and around the windows that glinted in the sun. There was quite a large lawn surrounding it, with a small but neatly tended bed of flowers running along the path to the door. A wooden sign hung perpendicular to the wall above the doorway, swinging with the light breeze, with the curling words "Fishtail Inn" on it. She could see a small carriage house a little bit behind and to the side, with a young stable hand sweeping out a stall.

The carriage prepared to stop at the front door, but there was a pair of women strolling on the lawns, and Erik rapped sharply on the ceiling. "Take it around to the back," he called loudly, and she heard the driver cluck to the horses and they pulled out of the cul-de-sac and back to the carriage house.

The inn cast a shadow over the carriage house, and as they pulled out of the light she heard the stable hand approach to unhook the horses, and their driver explaining that he wouldn't need boarding and that he was returning to the city.

Christine turned to Erik. "So… we'll be staying here?"

Erik nodded, but before he could say anything the stable hand had opened the door and stood back respectfully. Erik gathered up the bundles and traveling bags under his arm, then ducked his head and stepped out, turning and offering his free hand to Christine, who took it and followed suite. Erik was careful to keep his back to the driver, who turned his horses and clattered away through the cul-de-sac and back onto the main road.

The stable hand approached them, eyeing them for luggage, Erik handed their few belongings to him and said, "Please fetch me the owner."

The young man eyed him for just a moment, eyes flicking to the mask, then bobbed his head and turned, pulling open a scarred wooden door that creaked loudly and disappearing with their bags into the dimness that lay beyond.

Erik had a strange look on his face, almost apprehensive yet somehow thoughtful, and Christine threaded her arm though his, feeling slightly anxious because of his expression. "What's the matter, Erik?"

He glanced down at her, smiling briefly and reassuringly. "Nothing. Its just that…"

Before he could answer, the big wooden door reopened and the stable hand stepped out, still eyeing Erik, followed by a man of medium height with a rich coffee-colored complexion, dressed in a in a conservative charcoal-colored suit, with jet black hair and dark intelligent eyes.

An expression of utter shock chased across the man's face for a moment before he pulled it into one of composure.

"Erik."

"Nadir."


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Like it says in this story's summary, this ficis based on the movie version but with some book details thrown in. So, in order to have the Persian involved, I'm going to have to use the Erik's book history instead of the history shown in the movie. But not strictly one or the other though, I'll mix it up, a bit of both. Hope you like :)

Also, The character of Nadir is going to be somewhat more difficult for me to write than Erik or Christine... so please bear with me, suggestions welcome!

Patronus99: Nadir is a character from the original Gaston Leroux book and the Susan Kay book, a.k.a. The Persian or Daroga

erik'sangel527: Fluff is on the way! Just another chapter or two, gotta get some of the "serious" stuff done, or my plot will go nowhere :-P

Theed: Now that you mention it, I do recall seeing that Star Wars thing in a couple of the movies… lol!

bulterphan666: You know, I seriously should do that, write an amazing book and have it blow up and it'll be huge and famous and I'll get millions for it. Then I can say "yep, it all started with Hey, I'm going to be inserting a minor character in the next chapter… you want to be a cameo? Just review or email me, and tell me what you look like and all those details. :)

Chapter 11

The two men just stared at each other, and Erik was aware of Christine watching the exchange of names in confusion.

Even though he had prepared himself for meeting Nadir again, he didn't quite realize the shock that would overwhelm him; the rush of old memories engulfing him, some good and some bad, some that were neither. He stared at the only man he ever thought to call a friend but yet hadn't seen in countless years. At a loss as what to do, he suddenly put out his hand formally.

Nadir grasped it and they shook, and he too seemed to abruptly snap to his senses. His eyes traveled to Christine, widened slightly, and flicked back to Erik.

Erik shrugged subtly. Both their faces were schooled into blank façades – an essential art they had both learned in the Shah's court– but their eyes said more than words or expressions could.

Nadir reached out and took Christine's pale hand in his own brown one. "A pleasure to meet you, Mademoiselle." Always the gentleman, Erik thought.

"Thank you, Monsieur," Christine murmured.

"You may call me Nadir," he said with a smile, white teeth contrasting starkly against the dark of his skin. He guided her towards the open doorway, and she cast a quick confused look back to Erik, who stood with his hands behind his back, and gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

"Go on, my dear," Nadir said, "There will be maids inside to help you unpack and freshen up."

She hesitated for just another moment before stepping inside out of the noonday sun.

As soon as she had disappeared into the building, Nadir turned slowly back to Erik, his pleasant demeanor to Christine wiped clean to show a chaos of emotions on his face. "Erik?" he said in disbelief. "Yes, Erik, it is you." He paused, staring at him. "Are you mad?"

"Quite sane, actually," he replied smoothly.

Nadir coughed and stood up straighter, eyeing Erik as if not sure he was really there. "Would you care to please explain what exactly you're… doing?"

Erik grinned sardonically. "Would you believe me if I said I was not quite sure?"

Nadir's black brow furrowed. "I think I would, Erik." He sighed resignedly, shaking his head. "Come inside."

x x x

Erik followed Nadir up a long narrow flight of stairs until they reached a wide corridor with numbered rooms on each side. "You've been doing quite well for yourself," Erik commented. The place was well kept, neat and clean with a solid wooden floor that thudded as they walked down the long hallway. The walls were hung with foreign tapestries, and the doors were dark cherry wood with numbers carved into them, one two three four five all the way down the hall until they passed ten and reached an unmarked door with an iron lock.

Nadir retrieved a matching key from his pocket and unlocked the door with a loud click. The door swung open to reveal a large study. It looked smaller than it really was due to the face that the walls were lined with bookshelves crammed with books of all sizes, shapes, conditions and color. The long line of bookshelves was broken only by a fireplace, the door, and tall windows on the opposite wall that overlooked a huge stretching back lawn.

A sheaf of papers was scattered across the dark wood desk that sat in the center of the room, placed like a mahogany island in a sea of blue-black carpet. Next to the desk was a matching wooden chest, carved with intricate designs. Déjà vu hit Erik suddenly, and it took him a moment to recognize it from so many years ago. Memories resurfaced that he thought he had long since forgotten, and he looked away from the chest, wanting to focus not on the disordered past but on the here and now. Which wasn't really much less disordered, now that he thought of it.

There were two armchairs situated around the fireplace and after shutting the door, Nadir strode over and sank down into the nearest one. Erik eyed his back for a moment before crossing the room and joining him in the other chair.

The two of them merely stared into the ashy emptiness of the darkened fireplace until Nadir said slowly, "You're just waiting for me to ask." He settled back against the chair, closing his eyes then reopening them and focusing on Erik. "So tell me."

Erik did.

It had been little more than an hour by the time he finished talking. Nadir was staring at him resignedly, his black eyes wide and incredulous. "You never cease to amaze me."

"Is that a good or a bad thing?"

Nadir just blinked as if awakening from a strange and unbelievable dream. "You've always delighted in shock value, Erik; but this time you've outdone yourself."

Erik let out a long breath. "Am I meant to thank you for the compliment?" He laughed softly, but his eyes were serious.

Nadir massaged the bridge of his nose for a moment. "So, lets summarize here. You've made off with a nobleman's fiancée, and the police are after you for that and for killing two men. And destroying the Paris Opera House! God knows what else."

"It wasn't destroyed. The fire did not reach more than three or four levels. Perfectly repairable."

Nadir gave him a look. There was silence for a moment before he said, "Were you followed here?"

"Of course not. You know me well enough to realize that I wouldn't allow that to happen."

Another long pause. Again, Nadir broke it. "Do you love her, Erik?"

Erik stared at him as if he'd sprouted a second head. He was speechless for a moment. "Of _course _I love her!" he replied forcefully, as if the question was so ludicrous that Nadir should already know the answer. "What a ridiculous question." His face softened. "Yes, I love her… more than myself, or my music… she _is_ my music." He looked off across the room, and it was as if he was seeing something that Nadir couldn't.

"She loves me, Nadir. She loves _me_. Do you know what she said to me? She said, you are not alone. And she chose me."

He glanced up at Nadir, and raw emotion shone through his eyes. He looked away suddenly, somewhat self-conscious, and he got up and moved over to the window. He linked his hands behind his back and stared out at the wide grassy expanse of the lawn, dotted with trees and shrubs and a winding path through it. He saw two women moving along the path, one of them in a blue dress, and recognized her as Christine. He smiled to himself.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **At last, the result of my never-ending quest to write a longer chapter! Gahhh, took me forever to churn out. Hope its good.

Just FYI, I changed the title of this story from _Let the Dream Begin_ to _One Love, One Lifetime_. Just thought it would fit better. :)

Sango-2099: Lets just say that good things lie in store!

The Singing Fox Demon: Right now the girl is just a random guest at the inn, but she may become important later on. We shall see…

Chapter 12

Christine walked along the spacious gardens, grateful to be out of the confines of the carriage and out under the mid-afternoon sun.

A kindly old maid had taken her to a tidy room, where she'd sprawled out on the bed in a quite unladylike fashion, eyes closed and unmoving for ten minutes. She'd then cleaned her face and hands and run a conveniently placed comb through her curls.

When she'd ventured out into the unfamiliar inn, she'd bumped into a friendly young Parisian girl about her age. "I'd just been about to take a stroll through the gardens," she'd said – Annette was her name – and had invited Christine along with her.

Now they walked along the little pathway leisurely, with Annette talking animatedly about her aunt.

"She'd come down with pneumonia, quite serious, but she recovered quite well and the family doctor said a nice stay in the country would do her good. She's my legal guardian so I have to take care of the poor dear, accompany her and care for her and all that; so here we are." She turned blue-green eyes on Christine. "How about you?"

Christine blinked for a moment. "I... I'm here with my father. He's been sick too. He's quite elderly, and he was injured just recently, so I'm taking care of him…"

She was surprised at how easily the lies rolled off her tongue, and felt a pang of guilt when Annette nodded her head sympathetically, a wavy lock of brown hair coming loose from the neat bun. "Yes, I know just how that is. I do love my dear aunt, but sometimes taking care of her can be such a chore…"

Christine couldn't focus on Annette's idle chatter, good though the girl's intentions were. She felt bad about the lie, even though she knew it was necessary. More than that, she felt sudden worry strike – would she be forced to lie about Erik forever? Always telling people he was her injured father? She felt a surge of love for him – she didn't want to keep him hidden away like dangerous secret.

As she and Annette meandered farther along the pathway, heading into a grove of trees with tiny white buds on the bare branches that would soon bloom into fragrant blossoms. A stone bench sat underneath an overhang of branches, shading it from the bright sun.

"I've been coming here by myself sometimes," Annette said, "Just to relax, away from my aunt."

Christine joined her on the bench. The shadows of the branches cast a dappled light on her face, and she closed her eyes and let the sunshine wrap a web of warmth around her, a sharp contrast to the cold of the stone bench and the traces of snow on the ground.

"We've been here nearly three weeks now," Annette was saying, "I do wish we were back in Paris, I've been hearing some quite scandalous gossip from Madame Dubois."

Christine opened her eyes and glanced over at Annette. "Who's Madame Dubois?"

"She's staying across the hall from Auntie and I," Annette said conspiratorially. "She arrived just earlier this morning with her husband. Oooh, have you heard the rumor about the Marquis de Belmont?"

"No…." The ballet girls often gossiped, but this was one topic she hadn't overheard.

"I don't know too much about the matter," Annette continued enthusiastically, her freckled face excited at the thought of a juicy piece of gossip. "But what I did hear from Madame DuBois was…"

Annette continued to talk amiably, obviously deprived of conversation with anyone else her age. Christine also was pleased to have someone like her to talk with. Although she had never really been interested in who was seen with whom and who was just disinherited, it was good to have somebody to chat with, no matter what the subject. She thought wistfully of Meg – if only she was here, then Christine could tell her everything, and she knew Meg would understand.

x x x

The guests of the inn met for an early dinner in the tastefully and elegantly decorated dining room. Christine smiled and chatted politely with the others – the notorious Madame DuBois and her husband on her left, Annette and her aunt on her right, a pair of elderly yet spry sisters sitting across, and a multitude of others all down the long oak table – but noted Erik and Monsieur Nadir's absence.

She puzzled over it as she ate the delicious roast chicken. Who exactly wasthe foreign innkeeper? She recalled the expression on his face when he saw Erik – not surprise at a man in a strange mask, but the pure shock of unexpected recognition.

_Who was he? _Her natural curiously wouldn't leave the thought alone. She knew next to nothing about Erik's daunting past, but she wouldn't have guessed it included country inn owners. She couldn't figure out where he was from – little evidences here and there hinted at an obviously non-European background, such as the rich tapestries and intricately designed rugs, but she had absolutely no knowledge of any country beyond Europe.

"Do you know where the owner is from?" she asked Annette, who seemed to know everything about everyone at the inn, and had educated her about all them.

"The owner? I believe he's from… Persia?" Annette made it a question, pondering for a moment, then nodding decisively. "Yes, Persia. Or some country like that. Auntie asked him."

Persia. So that was the desert-like land depicted in several of the tapestries. She took a bite of the potato on her plate, chewing thoughtfully and musing the new piece of information. Why in the world had Erik been in Persia?

x x x

After dinner, Christine joined Annette and her aunt in cards game, laughing as the several other guests gave loud advice and guessed over who would win each round. She was grateful for an enjoyable and relaxing end to the stress of the day, able to laugh and joke easily in the friendly company.

She had lost track of time watching the two elderly sisters battle it out, arguing good-naturedly about who cheated, and was surprised to hear the clock strike eight.

Annette and her aunt decided to retire for the night, and Christine decided it would probably be a good idea for her to follow suite. The long day was beginning to wear on her, and her muscles slightly sore again after the discomfort of the previous night.

She bid goodnight to the pair outside their room – they were staying in Room 4, just a few down from her own Room 9. It was pitch dark inside her room – she fumbled for the gaslight and it slowly flared to life, hissing softly.

She moved to the small wooden vanity table at the foot of the bed. Her reflection in the mirror looked even paler than usual, but she hoped a good night's rest would cure that.

She reached up to untie the ribbon holding her hair back, the silky length slipping through her fingers as she let it fall to the vanity. She picked up the comb, running it through her curls and letting her gaze drift over the reflection of the room… a pair of gleaming eyes gazed back at her.

She gave a little cry and dropped the comb, the wooden clatter sounding abnormally loud in the heavy silence. "Erik!" she gasped, turning around quickly. "You scared me!"

"I apologize," he replied, not sounding the slightest bit sorry. He was sitting in the armchair in the corner, arranged with an almost languid grace, his elbow resting idly on the plump arm of the chair.

The rush of nervous adrenaline subsided, and Christine let out her breath slowly, turning back to face the mirror and picking up the comb again. "Where have you been all afternoon?"

"I had… things to discuss with the owner."

She paused before querying, "Who is he?"

"Who is who?"

She frowned at him in the mirror. "You know who I mean. Monsieur Nadir. The owner."

Erik pursed his lips for a moment before folding his hands in his lap. "He is an old friend."

"He's foreign… where is he from?" She knew the answer, but her curiosity was running away with her and she couldn't help prying more and more with each question.

"He is from Persia."

"How do you know him?"

Erik sighed exasperatedly, and in one fluid catlike motion, rose from the chair and swept across the room to stand behind her like a black shadow. "Must you plague me with questions?"

Christine blinked up at the reflection of his tall lithe form. "I'm sorry."

A ghost of a grin flickered across his face. "Such an inquisitive little thing…" He tilted his head forward slightly, then stood straight as if thinking better of it.

"We will be sharing a room. Nadir informed me that his inn is… rather busy this time of year."

"Yes… it is," she replied slowly, recalling all the guests at dinner. As if alerted to the situation, her pulse rose in her throat and began its now familiar nervous thrumming. She clasped her hands together tightly in front of her, staring straight into the mirror.

"Are you frightened of me?" Erik's voice sounded slightly amused.

"No! I'm not." The words sounded hollow even to her own ears. She met his eyes in the mirror again. They gleamed darkly in the steady glow of the gaslight, and a little thrill of – of what? – shivered through her, and she looked away from the intensity of his gaze. Seeing the two of them together like this was slightly unnerving.

She looked down from those hypnotizing eyes, and turned to move away but her foot caught the edge of her dress and she stumbled ungracefully, and tried to regain balance but toppled backwards and fell against Erik full force, knocking him to the side, and he stumbled for a moment before coming down after her. She hit the floor a second before he did, hard enough that the air was pushed out of her lungs in a painful whoosh.

She choked for a moment, trying to suck in air. She struggled for a moment, feeling downright ridiculous, but her dress was tangled completely around her legs and she couldn't get free.

Not to mention the fact that Erik was pinning the lower half of her body to the ground.

**A/N: **Sorry, had to leave ya hanging. Lets see what shall come next…?


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: **Wow,two hundred reviews! Thank you guys **sooooo** much for reviewing! It means so much so see your nice comments and all the great things you have to say, it makes my day to see my inbox filled with good reviews. I admit I was nervous to put this story up here because I didn't know if anyone would like it. I didn't even think anyone would find it! But thank you once again, luv ya all!

I know this chapter is short, but I'll compensate by updating two chapters at once. Two! What a deal! haha j/k… I just didn't want to combine the two chapters and "ruin the mood". :)

LoverofBalto: Now that I look back at it, I see how it doesn't make much sense the way I wrote it. I had it in my mind perfectly though... I went back and fixed it to explain it better.

Emily: She's not necessarily frightened of Erik, just of the unknown and the unfamiliar situation.

Amanda-Lynn: Yes, in the movie Christine's eyes are brown. Even though this story is mostly based on the movie, I'm using some book stuff, and in the book Christine's eyes are blue. Just felt like using that little detail. :)

Clayphan16: Do you really think I'd have Erik rape Christine? Tsk tsk. :)

Chapter 13

Erik's lower body pinned her legs and he lay braced on his elbows on her right side, a startled and perplexed expression on his face, as if utterly surprised to find himself sprawled on the floor.

He blinked up at Christine for a moment as she grasped a corner of the vanity table and struggled to pull herself up. The movement made Erik shift to the side and off of her, extracting himself from the tangle of gown and limbs, and he rose to his feet gracefully as she attempted to shake out her skirts and cover her exposed legs, feeling silly as she fought with the wadded material.

She was about to heave herself to her feet when she realized that Erik was staring at her, his eyes focused on the length of her bare leg. She covered it quickly, as if the heat of his gaze would singe the exposed flesh.

"Are you hurt?" he said calmly, as he had hadn't just been collapsed in an unruly heap on the floor.

"No – I'm fine…" She started to stand again and he held out his hand to her. Odd, she thought, that such a simple unfurling of the fingers could be so strangely elegant. Shaking the thought from her mind, she placed her hand in his, but before she could shift her body to stand he pulled her straight to her feet and up against him, drawing her hand to the back of his neck and abandoning it there, settling both his own possessively on her waist.

She stared up at him, her wide startled eyes mere inches from his turbulently piercing ones.

"Now are you frightened of me, Christine?" he said softly, his lips barely moving.

"No…"

He gave a short quiet laugh, barely a breath of mocking air. "You're trembling, my dear."

She was – but what else could she do, with the entire length of her body pressed against his? Adrenaline pumped through her, setting all her nerves on edge and sharpening her senses. The texture of his jacket beneath her fingers, the strong hands on her waist, the silky cravat brushing her neck, those blue-green eyes she was drowning in…

When his lips touched hers it was barely a kiss, the mere brushing of mouths like butterfly wings. He hesitated for a moment, as if unsure of her reaction to his touch. But when she pressed her lips more fully to his, it was the only confirmation he needed. His tongue flicked out cautiously, dancing across her bottom lip for a tantalizing moment before claiming her in a proper kiss, reveling in the new sensations as she sank into his embrace, drunk with the sweet and intoxicating taste of longing on his lips.

She was swept up by the slow, exploratory rhythm of his kiss, returning his desire with a fervor that chased away the last shreds of reticence hanging between them – the heat of his skin, the firm insistency of his hands on her waist, the yearning that curled over her like a warm fog radiating from him…

His sensuality pulled at her like a living thing, and the manners and the ladylike reserve that had been drilled into her for her entire life broke down under the heady rush of pent-up passion. And that passion had only one outlet…

She shivered under his touch as his hands skimmed up her waist, and their lips parted slightly as she drew in a shuddering breath, his fingers slowly and uncertainly unhooking the first clasp at the top of her gown… then the second, and the third, and the fourth… a sudden panicky anxiety splintered through the delightfully passionate haze, and she froze, quickly sucking in an audible little hesitant breath.

Erik paused, his lips less than an inch from hers. He didn't ask the question that hovered between them. It would've been redundant – the thought was almost tangible. After a moment he drew in breath as if to speak, but instead of tentative questions, a soft tune slipped from his mouth, gentle words in a melody and language she didn't recognize, but his voice was all too familiar to her.

His flowing tenor wrapped itself around her, igniting the heated desire of only moments before and dissolving the uncertainties that even she didn't want. Her eyes drifted shut in rapture at his song, the strange yet beautiful words caressing and convincing her soul.

He was still singing into her lips as he deftly swept her up in his arms, his voice calming the last of her inhibitions and curling around her like warm liquid starlight. The bed was soft and yielding at her back, his body firm, dominating and utterly masculine above her... she tightened her arms around his neck in a final surety, surrendering to the longing and soul-deep desire for all that was Erik…


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: **I know you guys don't like short chapters… me neither… but keep in mind, this one is _supposed _to be short. Like an "interlude" or something. Hope you like.

Chapter 14

Pierre plunked down heavily on the bar stool, laughing uproariously at a bawdy joke that one of the other bar-goers was telling.

Bull's Eye Tavern was a popular after-work hangout for hansom drivers, a place to spend a goodly portion of their wages and tell jokes about that day's ludicrous or obnoxious travelers.

Pierre fumbled inside his worn coat, withdrawing the leather pouch that represented more than half a day's work. Not just a handful of dirty coins, but of a whole bagful of money! A just and ample reward, too; it had been quite a while since he'd driven any passengers as far out into the country as he'd driven the strange pair today.

But no matter – that odd father and daughter pair were on their way, and so was he – on his way to becoming inexorably and delightfully drunk!

He had fished out two coins and slid them across the scarred wooden bar top, one for him and one for Jean, a pal who often accompanied him into his nighttime forays.

Maybe he could find himself a pretty lass too, he thought as Jean flirted shamelessly with the barmaid. Before he could continue the thought, a firm hand closed on his shoulder.

"What – ?"

"Good evening, monsieur." The voice was clear and cultivated, the body belonging to the voice encased in a navy blue cape.

"I was hoping you may be able to inform me of some travelers you picked up today."

Pierre frowned at the man, who gazed at him with a blank yet pleasant expression. "What are you talkin' about?"

"I've spoken to several of your… fellow drivers," the man continued. "And have been without luck. Maybe you could help me."

Pierre frowned again at the strange young man, looking so out of place in the seedy bar with his expensive clothes, clean-shaven face and neatly combed hair. "Why do you think I can help you?"

The man produced a crisp bill from his pocket and extended it to him wordlessly. Pierre reached for it cautiously, and crumpled it in his grubby hand as if afraid it would be snatched back from him.

"What do you want?"

"I am looking for… a man. He is traveling with a young woman, very beautiful." The man's voice seemed to almost trip over the last few words, as if they were sad and difficult for him to say. "They might be a strange looking couple."

Pierre instantly thought back to the elderly man and the woman of earlier that day, and replied slowly, "Yes, I think I could maybe remember something…" he paused, and eyed the young man pointedly until he produced another franc note. Pierre took it eagerly, and pocketed it along with the other one.

"I remember an old gentleman, rather strange. Bandages all over 'is face." The young man's head seemed to jerk just slightly, and Pierre continued, "And he had a lady with him, just like you said. Quite young lookin'. I took them to an inn out in the country, called the Fishtail, I believe."

"Did she seem… harmed in any way?"

Pierre was puzzled at the question, but his mind was on the money, and he said hopefully "No, Messieur. Just a bit jumpy-like if I had to say."

"Jumpy? How so?"

"Jus' a little frightened of somethin'. "

The young man's jaw grew tight. "I knew it," he muttered under his breath.

"What'd you say, Messieur?"

The man raised his head again and smiled blandly at Pierre. "Nothing. Thank you for your help."

He turned and quickly left the rowdy, busy tavern, the door swinging shut behind him. Pierre blinked after him, confused, but his attention was distracted when Jean tapped his shoulder in order to introduce him to a voluptuous blonde serving girl.

A bag of coins for a country drive, two bills just for telling some strange young gentleman about his work, and now a pretty girl presented to him. Today was just his lucky day.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: **Whew, I thought I was gonna get tomatoes thrown at me for not including the E/C action. Not only did I leave it out because of the lack of NC-17 rating, but I just didn't want to mess with a scene like that. I'd butcher it. I just thought I'd leave them to their privacy. :)

Just FYI, I went back and edited the last chapter. I thought I had included Pierre telling where E and C went, but I messed it up :smacks head: I write a bunch of different versions of each chapter, and finally settle on a certain one, but I just updated with the wrong version. It's fixed now, so go back and read it so it makes sense :)

Also, I'm **very** sorry for the so-slow update, and for the shortness of the chapter! This chapter was very difficult for me to turn out. I mean, I have no idea how the hell they would act in this sort of situation…

draegon-fire: Oh yes, great fun indeed… ;)

Adriaane: The link didn't show up, sorry :( I think that doesn't allow links, just put spaces in between the words in the link, maybe it will work then.

angeldreamer: Your favorite story? Awwwww! Thank you!

Theed: I struggled with the decision. Should I, shouldn't I… but there's all this emotion and passion building up between them, and I had to find an outlet for it otherwise it would just drag down everything else. It's not going to be a crazy-horny-luv-fest, though. :)

Nade-Naberrie: Nooo, don't hurt me :cowers: lol j/k. I have no intention of abandoning this story, I luv it. :)

Butlerphan666: Pierre was the driver of the carriage, and Jean was just his friend at the bar.

Chapter 15

Christine slowly awoke with lazy shafts of sunlight on her face, breaking through cracks in the heavy draperies and spilling long streaks of warm light across the room.

She let her eyes drift halfway shut again, the sun warming her face and Erik warming her body. Part of her mind started instantly analyzing the situation, working like a giant grinding wheel, but she pushed at it lazily, wanting only to bask in the sweetness of the moment.

She tucked her head in between Erik's arm and his chest, his heart beating steadily against her ear. His mask had been discarded on the floor somewhere and her eyes traveled over his sleeping face, the smooth taut skin of one cheek and the twisted, marred flesh of the other. She didn't recoil or look away – the deformity was merely another piece of him.

Her gaze drifted down to his naked chest, the expanse of skin rising and falling with each slow breath, the dusting of dark hair tracing faintly down to disappear beneath the sheet that tangled around his waist.

The sight of him lying there painted in sunlight and shadows made her breath catch. Not because she loved him or because she wanted him – that went without saying – but because he was suddenly, for the first time, completely and utterly at peace. His usually contemptuous lips were slightly parted, eyes closed, face relaxed, without an expression of scorn or anger, sadness or worry, disdain or despair.

Christine slowly reached up, traced her finger along the line of his jaw delicately, bold because he was asleep and could not observe her actions. After a moment she pulled her hand back, spreading it flat on his chest.

There were several small, strange bruises in the crook of his elbow – shadows of brown and purple, faded yellow and green. She wondered faintly how it had happened, but the thought slipped easily away as she burrowed closer into him and the tangle of blankets, her hair settling over his shoulder.

She let her eyes drift shut in the haze of sleepy pleasure, and did not see Erik's flick open. He gazed at the ceiling for a moment before shifting his arm experimentally, as if to test her weight pressed against his side, to confirm if she was really there. He was almost afraid to breath, as if the slightest inhalation would shatter the delicate warm glow that seemed to encase them.

Last night there had been something fragile in her eyes – half-eager, half-fearful, wanting but afraid to want, needing but afraid to need. It had undone him. He hadn't planned for what had happened, but the unmanageable crackling passion that sparked between them at the slightest contact had exploded like a match dropped in gunpowder.

There had always been a bond between them, an inexplicable link between tutor and master, angel and demon, man and woman. Now the tie between them seemed almost touchable, like an invisible halo surrounding and joining the pair.

Fate, destiny – it seemed a rather foolish thing, designed for dreamers and young girls to delight over with hope for a promising future.

Was this destiny? Was it mere chance that had brought them together under such abnormal circumstances? The thoughts made his head hurt, and he pushed them out of his mind.

He stretched slowly, arching his back like a cat. Christine's hair slipped off his shoulder and onto the pillow, and her eyes opened.

Their eyes met at they stared silently at each other for several long, long minutes, his jade eyes bright yet unreadable, her baby blues wide and uncertain.

"What happens now?" Christine ventured.

Erik stared at the ceiling thoughtfully. "I wouldn't know, my dear."

"I… I guess we just make it up as we go along?"

"I suppose we shall."

There was silence for a minute. Christine gazed at his profile, and suddenly realized how attractive he really was, even with the cruel disfigurement. The very force of his personality made him so striking that he was handsome, though it was obviously not the kind of handsome that would come across in a painting or photograph. It needed movement, his vibrating energy to make it work.

In a hesitant voice, she told him so.

He blinked at the ceiling for a moment. "How ludicrous," he replied easily.

She bit her lip. "Its not ludicrous."

"I hate to disprove your theory, my dear, but I'm afraid I am quite dull. Not – how did you put it? Vibrant?"

Christine flushed red, before she realized that, in his own way, he was teasing her. His face held no trace of a smile, only a gentle seriousness – but his eyes held a strange sort of contentment that seemed alien in his usually aloof face. It was almost disconcerting.

She settled her head more comfortably into the crook of his arm, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. If someone had told her a month ago that this was how she would end up, she would've laughed. Now the idea seemed not ridiculous, but entirely reasonable. But she didn't wish to analyze it now, and ruin the golden haze in which there was no thoughts, or problems, just warm lazy contentment that surrounded them both.

X X X

A carriage rattled through the streets of Paris, the sleek black exterior gleaming in the daylight, the coat of arms sparking reds and blues in the sun. It pulled to a halt in front of an impressive stone building with the words _Gendarmerie_ neatly carved into the face. A young man alighted, but before he could movie up the steps and into the station, a tall and imposing police officer came out to greet him.

"I assume you received my message this morning," the young man said.

"Yes sir," the policeman said briskly, "It is good news to hear we have a lead. But are you sure the information you learned was correct, not just the ramblings of a drunk cab driver?"

"I'm sure. He had no drink quite yet, and was quite lucid."

The policeman straightened his crisp uniform. "Well then, we shall proceed as soon as possible." He pulled a pocket watch from his coat and glanced at it. "Which will be almost immediately. This case has been made our first priority."

"That's good to hear." The young man drew in a deep breath. "I shall wait here until it is time."

"But, Vicomte," the policeman interjected with a frown, "I'm not sure that's quite safe."

"Safe? _Safe?_ Do you think its safe for my fiancée to be held captive with… with…"

He couldn't quite spit out the words, and instead gritted his jaw. "I intend to come, officer."

The policeman paused, then nodded slowly. "Then please, come in. We must speak to the chief."


	16. Chapter 16

Lucrecia LeVrai: Noooooo, not fluff! I'm trying to write this story with a good plot, not like a "cheap romance". :cries: I'm still not quite sure if that was a good or a bad review….

Haley Macrae: Yay, I like those Pocky things:)

Chapter 16

As soon as he heard Christine's bath water running in the adjoining bathroom, Erik slipped silently from the room, straightening his morning coat as he did so. The long hallway was empty, but he could hear faint voices floating up the stairway from the ground floor. He had no intention of taking the route by which all would see him – instead he strode quietly down the wide corridor to Nadir's study, trying the door handle without bothering to knock. It did not open, as he had suspected, but he easily picked the lock with a stray hairpin left in their room.

The door swung open and, although he had known by the locked door that Nadir was elsewhere, he was still relieved to find the office empty. He looked over the seemingly endless bookshelves, the wooden chest, the drawers in the desk… minutes later he had discovered a discreet cupboard mounted on the wall by the door, containing several bottles of liquor, a tin of cigars, and a small box containing that which he sought. One release deserved another…

X X X

Christine luxuriated in the bath, the hot water feeling deliciously good as it relaxed her muscles. The steam in the small bathroom curled her hair into even tighter tendrils round her face and she closed her eyes, breathing in the warm air.

Erik had dressed quickly and neatly in another set of clothes brought with them from Paris.

"There are things I must speak to the owner about," he had said with a kiss to her brow. She didn't know what could be so urgent as to call him away after such… such… she couldn't even finish the sentence in her mind!

She blushed and held back a foolish smile, curling her toes and sinking up to her nose in the hot water. The ballet girls' tales of lovers and secret trysts had not prepared her for… well! She smiled secretly to herself,

It had been hesitant and awkward at first, but desire and instinct had taken over to create something so intimate and passionate that… she could not think of a word to describe it! She laughed underwater, the air bubbling to the surface.

X X X

When Christine had finished, she put on a clean chemise (really, it was surprising how much Erik had fit into the traveling bags) and pulled the cord by the bed to call for a maid to help here dress.

Back at the Opera, all the girls helped each other, and it was odd having a stranger help her dress. As if she was some fine noblewoman with a lady's maid! The clothes Erik had chosen were quite fine, she mused as she grasped the edge of the vanity table as the maid laced up her corset. Finer than anything she'd worn before. But of course, it would only make sense for him to have expensive tastes. One didn't spend 20,000 francs on decorating a cave with candles.

In the traveling bag was yet another dress, a little wrinkled but no worse for wear. The mere sight of it was complicated – a never-ending line of tiny hooks marching down the back, a small bustle that Christine was unaccustomed to wearing, a full elaborate petticoat….

_She must think me ridiculous for not knowing how to wear my own clothes_, Christine thought as the maid helped her wrangled herself into it. When she was fully dressed she thanked the maid, and the young woman merely smiled, murmured that lunch was in two hours, and left, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click.

The fabric was gorgeous, she thought as she eyed herself in the mirror and ran her hands of the bodice of the dress. The material was a deep, deep red, overlaid with a pale black swirling design, so faint you could only see it when it caught the light at the right angle.

She felt almost overdone, comparing the beautiful dress in her mind's eye to the other simple dresses she usually wore. It wasn't as if there had been any need for a chorus girl to own fine gowns, except for wearing stage costumes and going to the Opera's balls and parties. But this was what the ladies in Paris were wearing, most of the women at the inn, too. She tied up her hair in a neat chignon at the nape of her neck and smiled at her reflection.

X X X

Erik was just opening the little box when the study door clicked open. His head snapped up to see Nadir, standing in the doorway with wide, surprised eyes.

The pair stared at each other, while Nadir's startled expression slowly faded and was replaced by a mixture of regret and disappointment.

"I thought you had stopped that long ago, Erik," he said slowly. "I guess I was wrong."

Erik slammed the cupboard door shut. "Who are you to judge?" he spat defensively. "You're the one with morphine in your study."

"Don't try to blame me, Erik. My taste for it has always been a temporary pleasure."

"As if mine isn't?"

"We both know its not."

Nadir's eyes traveled down to Erik's exposed arm, and Erik pulled his sleeve down neatly.

"Its really none of your business, Nadir."

"It is when you've broken into _my_ office."

They eyed each other for a long moment.

"Does… Christine know about this?"

"No."

"Does she know about any of it?"

"_No_," Erik replied curtly. "And I know you won't be telling her…" this last was said with a pointed stare.

Nadir passed his hand across his eyes and sighed. "No, Erik. That I would not do." He paused. "That's up to you."

There was a long silence as they stared at each other, memories passing unspoken between them. Abruptly, a soft knock on the door broke through the reminiscent reverie.

Erik's eyes flicked to the door, then back to Nadir, and he turned away, crossing the room in several long strides to sink gracefully into an armchair with his back to the door.

Nadir watched him for a moment before turning and opening the door to see his housekeeper standing before him.

"There are men to see you, sir," the woman said, wringing her plump hands nervously.

"I'll be down in a moment," Nadir replied with a sigh. "Please make them comfortable in the meantime."

"But, sir, they're police! I knew they must be mistaken, and I tried to send them away but they were very insistent, wouldn't explain a thing, they're searching the building as we speak!"

Nadir frowned for a moment before realization dawned – he turned just as Erik shot from the chair, the look on his face almost frightening as he strode past Nadir and the startled housekeeper and moved swiftly down the hallway.

X X X

Christine was stepping out of the bedroom when Erik reached her. She smiled shyly, blushing a pale pink, but her expression turned to one of startled confusion as he seized her arm roughly and hauling her down the hall towards the servants' stairway.

"Erik!" She tried to dig her heels in and stumbled, and he dragged her to her feet again. His face was like marble, jaw set, eyes hard. "Erik!" she cried again, and he stopped dead, staring at the servants' entry with an expression of undisguised horror and anger flashing in his eyes. There were strange voices echoing up the stairway, loud commanding words and tramping feet, and Christine shrank against the wall in fear and bewilderment, her heart pounding in her throat. Erik stood frozen for a split second before grasping her arm again and dragging her back to their room.

He flung her inside, slamming the door shut and striding across the room to throw open the curtains. He fumbled with the latch on the window – it wouldn't open and he tried to force it, shaking it furiously and cursing. Christine pressed against the vanity table, her breath coming quickly in frightened gasps, her fists pressed to her mouth, staring at the door with huge scared eyes.

She could hear loud footsteps in the hall, Monsieur Nadir's indignant voice, authoritative voices overriding his.

"Erik!" she cried, her voice sounding strangely shrill and panicky. "What's going on?"

Somebody was knocking on the door, rattling the lock – it began to shake with incessant pounding, hammering, thumping….

Erik whirled around, abandoning the window and crossing the room to stand in front of Christine, facing the door. He stared at it, emotions battling on his face, and closed his eyes for half a moment, then opening them again, and turned his head to stare at her. His expression was unreadable, yet his eyes seemed to be screaming in pain.

"What…. what is _happening_?" she whispered, fear and incomprehension choking her words.

There was a low, agonized sound in his throat, barely audible above the shouting voices, the slamming at the door that reverberated through the room…

The door burst open seconds before Erik backhanded her across the face.

**A/N: **I hope you all have read the Kay book… otherwise the first part of this chapter probably didn't make much sense. Oh well, even if you haven't, you'll understand it later. :)


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: **I'm sure you all want to punjab me after what happened at the end of the last chapter… well all I can say is, in the words of PotO, "you will understand in time…"

Lucrecia LeVrai: I was actually thinking that myself, lol. But I decided to leave it because girls are into clothes and appearances, and I wanted to show that even though she has made this huge decision and her life has changed so much in just a few days, she is still a teenager at heart and is paying attention to things like that. :)

Relyan: I tried to be thorough with the research, but its difficult. /

Artemis Crescent Moon: haha, I know how that is! I keep reading Phantom of the Opera again… and again… and again…

I am the Angel of Music: I know Erik doesn't seem like the kind to be an addict, but this story has a lot of Kay influence, so I'm using all Erik's history from that book. Besides, it makes the story more interesting:)

piratesareagirlsbestfriend: Wow, I appreciate that a lot! Makes me feel warm and fuzzly… okay, fuzzly isn't a word, but just pretend…

Chapter 17

The force of the blow knocked Christine backwards and she crumpled on the bed, her ears ringing and a shocked cry clogging her throat. She choked in a breath of air and opened her eyes slowly to see Erik standing at the foot of the bed gazing down at her with an expression of detached horror.

There were police flooding into the room - police? what? why? They saw her sprawled on the bed and rushed towards Erik, grabbing his arms and pinning them behind his back, forcing him to his knees as one of the men turned his head to the open doorway and shouted, "We've got him, sir!"

Erik struggled halfheartedly – what was wrong with him, he was stronger than that! – but after one of the men handcuffed him he knelt without protest, staring at wooden floor with his jaw set. Christine's breath was coming in shallow gulps as she struggled to rise on her elbows, and one of the police hurried to her side. "Miss, miss, are you hurt?"

She slowly raised her hand to her stinging cheek, staring at Erik as if in a dream – no, a nightmare – the sounds of the police and their voices and footsteps blurring in her ears like a loud lazy drone. As if he felt her gaze on him, he raised his eyes to hers.

His eyes were blazing, but not with the anger or hatred expected after such violence – they were burning with an intense pleading, begging her to remain silent, to pretend to be the victim.

Realization hit her like a sack of bricks and she pressed her hand to her mouth, whispering "No, no…"

The policeman took her arm gently, saying "Its alright now, no reason to be afraid."

She tried to tug her arm away but it was like moving through water, and the man just held her more firmly and drew her to her feet. "We have your fiancé, miss, he's right here..."

She turned her eyes to the doorway and saw the Vicomte de Chagny stride in.

"Christine!" Raoul stared at her for a moment then hurried towards her, enfolding her in his arms and holding her close in that familiar embrace. "Oh, Christine..."

Past Raoul's shoulder she could see the policemen going through the traveling bags, several with muskets pointed at Erik, his eyes screaming in agony and still, that intense pleading to understand what he was trying to communicate without words...

"Christine, Christine," Raoul was stroking her hair. "You're safe now..."  
He held her out in front of him, his eyes roving over her. "Has he hurt you? By God, I swear I'll – "

"He struck her, sir, just after we broke down the door," yet another policeman informed helpfully.

Raoul stared down at Erik for a moment before saying slowly, "Be grateful that Christine is present, or God knows what I'd do to you."

Raoul glanced over at the chief of police, who was directing his men about the room, and gave him a small nod. "Monsieur, you know what to do with him."

Without warning, Christine began to cry.

Raoul embraced her again, whispering comforting words into her ear as she stared at Erik past his shoulder. The police were hauling him to his feet, pushing him roughly out the door. His eyes never left hers, and suddenly Christine shrieked his name, the frantic sound ripping from her throat unnaturally.

Raoul hugged her closer. "Dearest, its alright, its over now..."

Erik was forced from the room at gunpoint and Christine collapsed in Raoul's arms.

X X X

Erik sat in the dim light of the police carriage, fully aware of the men's eyes on him, muskets within easy reach, watching him with both contemptuous and curious eyes. His head was throbbing, his arms cuffed uncomfortably behind his back, his soul in more agony than any current physical pain.

He didn't know how they had been found so soon, and so easily. He didn't know what would become of him. All he knew was that whatever his fate, he could not allow Christine to be dragged along with him.

It had taken all his willpower to strike her – her confused, wounded eyes staring up at him from the bed had nearly undone his control. It was a desperate plan, acted out by a desperate man. But if anyone were to find out that she was with him of her own free will...

They had been trapped in that little room, with no options and no way out. He could have thrown up a show of bravado and claimed Christine as his willing bride, but the outcome still would have been his destruction and her ruin.

It was easier this way. Easier for her. What kind of life would she have had, the Vicomte knowing she had chosen Erik willingly…

Was it easier for him? Ah, no. He stared unseeing out the barred window, his vision slipping out of focus several times. Yes, it was easier for her if they all believed she had been abducted by a cruel, insane monster.

But was it really so hard to believe that he _could_ be loved? But that was a ridiculous question. He had a hard enough time of believing it himself, why expect anyone else to?

One of the men whispered something to another, and they both glanced at him, then chuckled to themselves.

Erik was shaking. He clenched and unclenched his fists behind his back slowly, letting his breath out in a long, quiet rush. He would not give these petty policemen the satisfaction of seeing him break down.

X X X

When Christine opened her eyes, it was the ceiling of a carriage she saw, the dark upholstery seeming to dance and ripple as her vision cleared.

She realized it was Raoul's arms she was cradled in, and when he felt her stir, he glanced down and smiled in relief. She opened her mouth slowly to speak, but he pressed his fingertips to her lips. "Shh. Don't speak…. just rest."

The thought was tempting… just slide back into oblivion… but she struggled to raise herself up, and she slipped off Raoul's lap as he guided her into a sitting position against the soft plush of the seat.

"Christine… are you alright? Is there anything you need?"

Tears pricked the back of her eyes at his boyish concern. _Oh, Raoul. My old sweetheart. If you only knew… _A wave of nostalgia swept over her, along with a tinge of guilt. _You would do anything for me, wouldn't you? _

_Anything…_

Suddenly, the thought brought her mind back to the police at the inn… a prickle of dread crept through her veins and sped her pulse, and she swallowed tensely.

"Erik… where is… Erik?"

Raoul heard the thread of fear in her voice and mistook it for fear of another kind. He moved closer to her, reaching his arm around her waist and leaning in to kiss the top of her head. "Christine, he will never harm you again. Never. You're safe now." She sat unmoving except for the slight tremor in her lip as he continued sadly, "I only wish I could've gotten to you sooner! In his lair, I had to leave, I could not take him on myself… oh Christine, when I think of how you tried to sacrifice yourself for both our lives…"

"Raoul," she whispered slowly, muscles frozen and panic rising in her throat. "_Where is Erik?"_

She could not see his face, but she heard him let out his breath in a relieved rush. He kissed her hair again tenderly. "He is… being taken care of."

X X X

Erik stepped from the coach, the awkward angle of his cuffed hands and the musket barrel jammed against his back making the movement difficult.

A large empty field lay before him, bordered by woods to the left and stretching endlessly over the countryside ahead, the grass dusted with scarce patches of melting snow here and there.

The dirt and gravel of the road crunched next to him as three of the policemen alighted. Erik turned his head towards them, and the trio stared back at him. The driver was staring too, he realized, the man was turned on his seat watching, the buttons on his uniform glinting in the sun.

Erik's eyes dragged back to the musket, and it seemed an impossibly long moment as he stared at it.

"What do you plan to do with me?" Erik said calmly, meeting the gaze of the most official looking policeman.

The man raised his chin importantly, his eyes going cold and disdainful. "We have our orders."

"Start walking," another man said. Erik merely watched him for a heartbeat or two before the man jabbed the muzzle of his musket into Erik's back. "Start walking," he repeated.

Erik turned away, and began to walk away across the field.

It had been a while since he'd simply gone walking like this, he mused. The grass gave way softly as he stepped on it, the occasional patch of snow crunching quietly. There was a bird singing in the wood nearby, the sound carrying loudly across the landscape.

He heard the other police carriages clattering past, on the way back to Paris, and he suddenly wondered where Christine was now. Driving with the Vicomte in his lavish carriage? Resting in his decadent home?

She would have a good life. He hated that boy… hated him with every fiber of his being for doing this… but Erik knew he would care for Christine, provide her with all the necessities and luxuries that his money and title could offer. The thought was bittersweet, and it seemed he could almost taste it on his tongue.

When she woke in the mornings with the Vicomte at her side, would she smile that same secret smile she'd shared with Erik just that morning? Would she sing for the boy the way she sung for her angel? Her eyes shining with feeling, her voice clear and pure as a bell…

Erik could remember every detail of Christine Daae as if she walked next to him. Her dark curls spilling over her shoulders, big blue eyes wide and bright. He could remember those nights he tutored her, her slender hands twisting nervously as she attempted a higher note, or an intricate bar of music. He could remember the first time he took her through his mirror, her face glowing with longing and ecstasy. He remembered her singing his _Don Juan_, her eyes flashing with the passion and desire that reflected his own. He remembered the look on her innocent, tear-stained face as she kissed him that first time, staring up at him in surprise and adoration...

He wouldn't see it again, would he? Never see any of that. Never feel her small hand in his, her soft hair against his bare chest. That belonged to the Vicomte now.

A dead weight seemed to settle on his lungs, choking his breath, but with a sudden burst of emotion he pushed it away. That boy had robbed him of everything, everything he'd strived for, everything he loved, but not now – at these last moments, these memories were his, and his alone.

A shot rang out, and Erik hit the ground.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N:** Welcome back, my lovelies. Apologies for the slow update… I've been sick and I've had a lot of schoolwork to do. Honestly, those teachers need to understand that I have a very important fanfic to write. And sorry for the evil cliffhanger… but I have no excuse for that.

A.D. Chandler: Hey, there was a _reason_ for him backhanding her.

SabrinaFair: Thanks for pointing those out. I hate typos.

PhantomsHeart: Maybe…. ;)

Bumble0Bee: Mouth to mouth with Erik… :sighs happily:

Nade-Naberrie: Thank you so much! I love getting all kinds of reviews, but its very nice how you specifically say what you liked about it. :)

Chapter 18

Raoul had brought Christine to his elder sister's spacious townhouse. It wouldn't be proper for her to stay with him, no matter how much he wished to be near her, to comfort and protect her as she recovered from the recent events.

"The poor dear," Marie sighed after he relayed the situation. "What a terrible ordeal for the both of you!"

Raoul set his untouched tea back in its saucer, sinking back against the brocade couch and staring at the painting of his family that hung above his sister's fireplace. He had never liked that one.

"But you know we'll take good care of her," Marie continued, taking his hand and smiling reassuringly. "Lots of rest, good food, and she'll be well soon enough."

Raoul returned the smile and kissed her cheek. "Thank you so much. And thank your husband, too. Do give him my kind regards when he returns from his country visits."

"Don't think a thing of it," Marie replied, slipping her arm around him comfortingly as the pair rose.

Raoul sighed. "I'm just so glad it's all over."

X X X

Christine stared up at the elegant molding and carvings on the ceiling, her soft breathing the only sound in the dim room.

A maid had hustled her into the guest room, drawing the curtains, changing her into a borrowed nightgown and tucking her into bed as if she were a small child.

Christine lay silently, the luxurious covers soft and cool around her, her face passive and her eyes blank. If she let her vision blur, staring at that white ceiling, she could almost see his face… yes, it was right there, right there when she closed her eyes… the smooth mask, intense blue-green eyes, mouth curved in a slight smirk… and his voice, his voice was in her mind, but not in her ears…

She didn't realize she was crying until she felt the warm tears slipping down her cheeks and into her hair. Those tears were knives, tearing holes in her numb and mindless state… feeling seemed to flood back into her as the tears trickled silently from the corners of her eyes. She slowly rolled onto her side, so slowly it was as she had forgotten how to do it, pulling at one of the plump feather pillows and curling herself around it, arms trembling, face slack…

When the cry ripped from her throat the pillow muffled it. "No," she choked, sobs seeming to fill her mouth. She was suffocating – she coughed, and the sound was harsh, staccato… she squeezed her eyes tight, clutching the pillow like it was life itself, her sobbing sounding loud, so loud in the empty bedroom…

With each sob, a new memory whirled through her mind… the feel of his gloved hand on hers, the texture of his cravat against her cheek, the way his mouth moved as he sang… the way his eyes burned so intense, the way voice deepened in pitch when he was angry… rage or passion, anguish or longing, darkness or beauty, betrayal or love…

Her lips couldn't form his name – her mouth just worked uselessly, stumbling over garbled, disjointed, almost disbelieving sentences. "Angel… angel of music… angel of… everything… you can't leave me… you… you…" Words failed her and she choked again, coughing into the pillow, her tangled curls sticking to her cheeks and hot tears smearing her face.

Her words had slurred into a strangled shriek as the door was flung open and the maid rushed in.

X X X

When Christine awoke the next morning, her cheeks were damp – she felt weak, used up. Her eyes were gritty and her head pounded, but after a smiling Marie administered a cup of steaming tea – the cure-all, she said – the calming, familiar taste soothed her somewhat.

At first it like she was floating through a bizarre dream, detached from her surroundings, merely watching, not doing. But then, as grogginess left her and she awoke more fully, the world became crystal clear and all too real. The waving branches of the oak tree in the back garden, the sound of footsteps moving to and fro past her door, the sunlight streaming in through the windows and illuminating the flecks of dust in the air, the feel of the diamond ring still on her left hand…

She couldn't finish the rich bacon and eggs the maid brought in – the food seemed strange and tasteless in her mouth. She didn't want to eat, or drink or pay attention to the birds singing just outside the window. How good it would be to slip away under the blankets and weep until she felt empty and numb once more and could fade into sleep… into dreams…

She had dreamed of him last night. He had been singing to her, leaning over that great black swan bed and singing her to sleep. She should've sung him to sleep – yes, sung to him as he sank into that last never-ending silence…

Christine moaned and rubbed her eyes, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. She sucked in a ragged breath slowly. If she cried again, she was sure she would be sick.

She slipped in and out of sleep the rest of the day, disjointed, disoriented dreams chasing her into the waking hours and back into disturbed slumber. The dreamt of music and candles and gilded statues, coach rides and dark passages and his warm bare body over hers… she woke suddenly and flung her arms out frantically, choking back a hopeless sob when all her desperate hands found were blankets.

X X X

The next morning, she was calmer. She ate her breakfast of scones and jam, and the maid convinced her to get out of bed, bathe and change into a borrowed gown.

"What an ill fit," Marie objected when Christine came downstairs in the too-large dress. "We must go shopping! I know an excellent seamstress, creates the most beautiful outfits…" Marie laughed at Christine's dull protests and called for her maid to fetch her a hat and for the coachman to ready an open barouche.

"We will have to do this all the time when you and my brother are married," Marie said with a smile, fastening the hat over her blonde hair and tying the ribbons under her chin. "It will be so nice to have a sister-in-law so close to my own age! I'm just twenty-one, you're only a few years younger than myself…"

_Sister-in-law… married…_

Marie saw Christine pale, and she frowned slightly. "Are you alright?" Christine pressed her lips together tightly and closed her eyes for a moment before nodding. "Yes… yes, of course!"

Marie eyed her for a second before taking her arm and leading her away from the wide staircase and into the sitting room. "You look so faint," she said, guiding Christine to the couch by the fireplace and sitting down in the large chair across from it. "You have such dark shadows under your eyes. I understand you've been through a series of awful events, but are you sure you're not seriously ill?"

Christine raised her tear-filled eyes to Marie's concerned brown ones. She felt childish, but she couldn't care. "Yes, I'm fine," she whispered, but her mind was elsewhere. Marie bit her lip, and reached to take Christine's hand.

"Its all over now, dear. There will be no more of that… that man."

Marie stared as Christine snatched her hand away, pressing her hands to her face as she burst into devastating, racking sobs. She moved from the armchair to the couch, embracing the crying girl, confused but attempting to comfort her the only way she could think of.

When Christine returned to her room, the window was slightly open, a light, warm breeze wafting through the room. She sank face first onto the bed, her chest a hollow, aching cavity, but her eyes full of fresh tears. She felt she could cry forever.

She crumpled the covers beneath her fingers and pulled herself up to the pillows, burying her face into them and inhaling the fresh, clean scent. She slipped her hand beneath the pillow to draw it closer to her, but her hand brushed a strange stiff little square. Confused, she grabbed it and pulled it out from underneath, wiping at her tears as she did so.

It was a small, folded piece of thick paper. With trembling hands, she unfolded it.

_Christine,_

_I hope this has arrived to you safely. My servant followed you here the day before last and alerted me to your location. It was he who slipped through the window and left this note._

_Mademoiselle, it is imperative that you find the Hotel Dupont, on the south side of the Seine River. Please be there as soon as possible._

_M. Nadir_


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: **Sorry, not much happens in this chapter. I mean, something important is revealed, but not much else. More later, I promise. But until then… evil cliffhangers of doom!

Avelera: Interesting point about Chapter 5. However, he most likely had her wedding dress custom made for her, and when he was getting clothes and supplies from the stores that morning, he was in a rush. :)

PhantomsHeart and Aravis Silvertree: Wow, you really cried::beams:

Blondie: I didn't mean to make Christine act like a lunatic. She's devastated, completely wrecked. That's how you act when you're as devastated as she was. Especially since she's so young and often childlike. I didn't want her to shed a few pretty tears, I wanted to show how completely grief-stricken she was.

Chapter 19

While the rest of the household ate dinner, Christine had crept quietly to Marie's room to find a cloak or coat of some kind. She found a suitable cloak, but felt guilty for taking it – she used the paper at the desk to scribble a quick word of apology and a promise for its return.

She now stood by the open window in her own room, eyeing the great oak tree, studying the thick branches that stretched up towards her. She took a deep breath, and carefully pulled herself up onto the windowsill, kneeling on it with her hands braced on the frame to steady herself. She stretched one tentative leg out into the night, placing her foot cautiously on a sturdy-looking branch. She reached out, flexing her fingers until she grabbed a higher branch and then heaved herself forward and fell hard against the trunk of the tree, frantically tightening her arms and knees around it, breathing hard.

She stayed unmoving for a moment, her eyes adjusting to the night, adrenaline needling through her veins. She slowly and awkwardly worked her way down the tree, her hair and clothes catching on the branches, her hands scraping along the rough bark, disoriented in the dark and unfamiliar surroundings.

The soft hoot of an owl startled her and she lost her foothold, sliding the rest of the way down to fall hard on her back with a thud, wind knocked out of her, head spinning and cloak wrapped around her neck.

She gasped in a breath and stared up at the night sky through the tree branches for a moment before pushing herself to her feet, grimacing at the scrapes on her palms. She untangled the cloak and shook out her skirts, picking twigs out of her hair and dropping them onto the neatly trimmed grass.

The budding flowers looked luminously pastel in the moonlight, the stretch of lawn like a gray ocean, the trees casting ominous shadows. She cast a worried glance at the brightly lit windows of the house.

When she found the gate to the garden she opened it and went through it quickly, wincing at the screeching creak.

She hurried away from the house and down the street, willing her feet to carry her swiftly. She had to get out of the wealthy district – there was little hope of hailing a cab here, where the rich and titled had their own.

The houses she passed soon grew less and less extravagant, the fine carvings and elegant gates disappearing and giving way to the respectable middle-class neighborhoods of the merchants and dressmakers, lawyers and doctors. Her feet were beginning to ache when she heard the sound of a coach behind her, and she whirled around, holding up her hand and heaving a sigh of relief when it slowed to a halt.

"The Hotel Dupont, please," Christine said loudly as she moved towards the door.

The driver coughed. "Young miss like yerself shouldn't be out so late all by yer lonesome," he said over his shoulder, grinning lecherously. A sliver of alarm slid through her but she ignored it, climbing into the dark carriage and slamming the door. She heard the driver laugh and slap the reins.

The carriage whisked through the streets of Paris, passing bright saloons, gambling dens and smoking parlors. The river gleamed like a lazy silver snake as they rattled across the bridge, the horse's hooves sounding abnormally loud on the cobblestones.

The carriage turned several sharp corners and her stomach lurched in apprehension as they slowed to a stop in front of a small, shadowy building. She opened the carriage door and stepped down onto the street, heart pounding anxiously.

She stood for a moment in tense silence before the driver's jarring voice cut into her thoughts. "You goin' to pay up, little lady?"

Christine whirled around to stare up at him, instinctively feeling in the cloak pocket for her little coin pouch, knowing it wasn't there.

"I… I…"

The driver raised his eyebrows and smirked toothily. "Wot? No money, eh?" He leered suggestively. "You know, you don't hafta pay _that_ way…"

Christine shrank away and stumbled, tripping over the curb. Two strong hands grasped her arms and she whirled around with a little shriek.

The man was her height, dark and thin. "You are Christine," he said in a heavily accented voice. She swallowed and nodded quickly.

The man turned from her and produced several coins from his pocket, taking several great strides and handing them to the driver. "Go now." The driver eyed them for a moment then clucked to his horse, rattling away down the road, turning the corner out of sight.

Christine turned slowly back to the man. "I am Darius, the servant of Nadir," he said, taking her arm and leading her to the shadowy doorway of the little hotel.

They entered a simple yet tidy sitting room, where an elderly man reading a book and smoking a pipe glanced up at them and nodded in acknowledgment. Darius led her through the room and up the curving staircase, their feet thudding loudly on the wood, seemingly too loud for the quiet hotel. A narrow landing revealed a row of doors along one sight, and she hesitantly followed him down to the end of the row, blinking quickly to adjust her eyes to the dim light. At the last door, Darius stepped back and gestured gracefully towards it.

Christine stared at it for a moment – then, gulping down her trepidation, she reached for the knob and slowly opened it, taking several steps in through the doorway.

The room was plain yet clean, with a scrubbed wooden floor, a small washstand with a white porcelain bowl on it, and a narrow bed set up against the wall, with a still figure in it…

A cry rose in her throat and her hand flew to her mouth, and she sagged against the doorway as her knees weakened. She stared in numb disbelief, barely daring to hope… the cry broke free as she pushed away from the door, flinging herself across the room and falling to her knees at the bedside in a heap of skirts and cloak. "Erik," she whispered hoarsely.

His dark hair tumbled in a tangled mass across his forehead, his eyes closed, skin abnormally pale. His chest was bare except for the thick bandage around his entire lower abdomen, rising and falling so slowly with each shallow, ragged breath, the sheets twisted around his waist.

"My God," she choked, reaching out to touch his still face. She gasped – despite his ashen skin, it was burning to the touch. She grabbed his hand, pressing it against her cheek, tears slipping into his still palm.

"Christine," came a soft voice behind her. She shifted slowly off her knees, leaning her back to the bed, still grasping Erik's hand to her as if it were life itself.

Nadir was standing in the middle of the room, his sleeves rolled up, his black hair disheveled and his face worn and weary. He slowly walked towards her, sinking into the wooden chair by the bed that she hadn't noticed before.

"I am glad you arrived here safely," he said. Christine just stared at him, eyes huge and wide like a child's. He gave her a tired smile, and she whispered, "What happened?"

Nadir let out a long breath, folding his hands loosely in his lap. "He was taken to be executed," he said quietly. "But the policemen were young, inexperienced – incompetent. After they shot him, they did not check to be sure that…" he hesitated for a moment, and looked away. "It took Darius and I hours to find him; it was nearly night when we did. By that time, irreversible effects had set in. He was so cold from the ground, and had lost so much blood…" He raised his head slowly. "I am not a physician, but I have a basic medical knowledge. Enough to know that…" he paused again, and when he spoke it was with great difficulty. "The chances are… very slim."

Christine's hopeful face crumpled – she stared blankly for a moment before turning back to face the bed, rising up on her knees, working her arms around Erik's still body and pressing her head to his chest. "Erik, Erik," she whispered brokenly, tears sliding silently down her cheeks and onto his skin. His heartbeat was so weak against her ear, just the faintest pulse like a trapped butterfly. "Don't leave me… I need you…" she trailed off, heaving herself up onto the bed awkwardly, falling down beside him and tightening her arms around him. "Please, please…" she cried into his neck. "You don't know how much I love you…. Erik, you must hear me!"

"He can," Nadir's soft voice came from behind her. "I am sure he can."

"How do you know _that?_" Christine cried, her voice rising perilously close to a shriek. There was a long moment before Nadir answered. "He can hear you, child."

_I'll do anything. _She swallowed, wiping her eyes and sitting up, bracing herself on one hand and cradling his cheek with the other.

"Erik," she began tremulously. A wave of fresh tears threatened to break free, but she squeezed her eyes tightly for a moment before continuing. "Erik… you… you're strong, Erik… you can't die. You won't." She sucked in a ragged breath. "I love you, angel, more than my life, and if you die, I will too."

She hoped for a miracle, for her simple, childlike words to cause his eyes to open, his mouth to speak, his arms to return her embrace. But he remained as still as ever and she sank down next to him, huddling close and weeping again as if her tears could revive his silent soul.

**A/N: **If you haven't read the Kay book, then let me just say that what Nadir said about Erik hearing her will make sense later on. :)


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: **Wow, I got some really great reviews for the last chapter. It's truly amazing to me when I read some of them. I'm like, "People cried over this? _For real?_" I am very thankful for all of you who review, it makes my day to get them in my inbox. Just keep 'em coming, I'd like to hear what you specifically like or don't like. Thanks again!

Sandra: Thank you, I try to make this whole thing realistic.

The Singing Fox Demon: Silly Raoul thought that Christine chose Erik over him in the final lair scene because she wanted to save both their lives from the "madman". Grrr.

Raine: I know how it's spelled. I spelled it that way because I wanted to make it like slang when the driver was talking.

Terpsichore314: It's in reference to when Erik was pretty much at death's door, and Nadir's son told him to wake up and the next morning he did.

Potostfbeyeluvr: Kay's book isn't inappropriate, not in my opinion anyways.

Nekona: Yay, someone knew what that was from::chants: Reza power, Reza power!

Rhianna-Aurora and power-of -the-lightning-bolt: Thanks! Welcome to my little fan club… lmfao I'm just kidding! I only wish I had a fan club. :)

Masqueradetta: Thank you! I want to be published in the future. Not this story though, lol!

Rhana: Really? That's actually first time I've heard that… I would very much appreciate some feedback as to why you think so. :)

mymagic: Did you just compare me to the great Leroux::in shock: I am humbled….

Aravis Silvertree: You should post your story! I'd love to read it. :)

Lady Damyria: Actually, I'm trying not to make Raoul a jerk, lol. I want to keep them all in character!

et-spiritus-sancti: I was lucky enough to find a copy of the Kay book at my library! I keep checking the used books stores, though. I think you can read it online somewhere, but I'm not sure. And I'm glad you understood about what Erik did when Raoul found them, I was afraid some people wouldn't.

Soofija: Miss Cliffhanger, that should be my new pen name… hee hee.

Lucrecia LeVrai: I thought there was too much crying, too. However, I'm not writing what I would've done or what I would've preferred, I'm trying to write what Christine might've done. After all, she's only sixteen. :)

Chapter 20

The next morning dawned no better. Erik's pallid skin had grown flushed and heated, and he stirred jerkily in his sleep, occasionally moaning and mumbling a word or two so softly it was inaudible.

"What happened?" Christine questioned Nadir. "Last night he was so silent, so pale… hot to the touch, yes, but – "

"His body had little blood then. Now he has fully recovered from the blood loss, enabling the flushed skin and fever. The bullet missed vital internal organs," Nadir replied as he changed Erik's bandage. "But infection has set in – " he was cut off by Christine's gasp at the inflamed, ragged wound.

"Oh God," she whispered, mindlessly crossing herself, her hand falling from the act halfway through. "If he is going to… to…" she couldn't finish the sentence. "Just tell me..."

"I don't know," Nadir replied shortly, moving away from her and picking up his coat from where it was slung over the little desk in the corner. "I was hoping he would heal on his own, but… I was wrong. He needs a doctor."

With a last lingering glance at Erik, he continued, "I will return soon. Is there anything I can get for you, anything you need?"

She stared back at him. "Erik," she whispered. "I need Erik. So please go fetch that doctor, Monsieur."

With a curt nod, Nadir buttoned up his coat and strode out, shutting the door tightly behind him.

Christine turned away slowly and retrieved a small cloth from the washstand, dipping it briefly into the porcelain water bowl and wringing it out. She crossed the small room and sank into the chair by the bedside, folding up the wet rag and laying it across Erik's forehead.

He made a soft sound as the cool cloth touched his burning skin and Christine jumped at the it – every time he made the slightest noise or motion her heart sped up in anticipation that his eyes would open, and their gazes would meet… but each time she was let down. This restless fever was almost worse than his deathly stillness of the night before. She wished he could say something coherent instead of the soft, unintelligible and all but inaudible words that punctuated his rough breathing.

"Oh Erik," she whispered, pushing a lock of damp hair from his face. "I don't know what to do if…" she let the sentence trail off.

It seemed he was all she'd ever known, and all she ever wanted to know. That daring taste of childish romance with Raoul had not made her long for freedom – it had only convinced her how much she wanted what she already had. The very thought of continuing life without him was unimaginable, not even a complete idea. It seemed an impossibility! Life would not be life without him – his sonorous, enchanting voice that evoked her darkest fantasies and sweetest secrets, the force of his both mysterious and familiar personality, the very strength of his presence beside her. The feeling of utter security when she awoke in his arms that morning just a few days past, the masculine grace with which he moved, his rare smile, the look in his eyes when they made love for the first time…

The very idea that these memories would be the only ones she would ever have of him terrified her, and she grasped his hand tightly, her hair falling over her face as she pressed her trembling lips to his knuckles.

What on earth _would_ she do if he… she skipped that word over in her mind. It seemed highly unlikely she could return to the Opera – even if the damage was repaired, the scandal and gossip surrounding the recent events would be unbearable. She had few other skills with which to get a job; the Opera had been her entire life.

Then there was Raoul. He was a good Catholic – would he take back a woman who had already belonged to another man? Would he even know?

She did not even care to find out. She knew now that she had no wish to marry Raoul. Dear friend – yes. Lover – no. He would be a good husband… to someone else. Christine knew there was only one to whom she would ever truly belong. A great ache welled up in her chest, but she did not cry – could not cry. It seemed there were no tears left.

X X X

Several hours passed in which Christine hummed, sang, prayed softly and unconsciously under her breath.

"Hail Mary, full of Grace, the Lord is with thee  
Blessed art thou among women,  
and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.  
Holy Mary, Mother of God,  
pray for us sinners now, and at the hour of death…"

The sound of the door startled her from her reverie.

Nadir stepped through the doorway, followed by a short, skinny little man with a wispy mustache, clasping a black doctor's bag.

"This is Doctor Gautier." Nadir said mechanically.

"Good afternoon, Mademoiselle," the man said, and Christine rose, ducking her head. "Good day, Monsieur." But her eyes never left Erik, and the doctor followed her gaze. He moved past Nadir and towards the bed. "How long has this condition – "

"About three days," Nadir replied before the man could finish. Gautier frowned. "Did you not call for a doctor before this?"

Nadir's expression grew strained. "I have a slight medical knowledge, and I believed the wound would heal on its own."

The doctor looked skeptic. "Medical knowledge is not a simple thing to come by. Did you train at a school?"

Nadir nodded towards the bed. "This man himself taught me a minor amount. Many years ago."

Gautier merely sighed and moved past Christine. Suddenly he gasped, his eyes fixed on Erik's face. "You said a bullet wound!" he said, stepping back from the bed, shock written on his thin face. "This… this…"

"A bullet wound is the matter at hand," Nadir cut in curtly. "You are a professional man, Monsieur. I am sure you will be able to ignore the obvious… and you are indeed qualified to deal with the injury?"

With a last look at Erik's exposed features, Gautier nodded slowly. "Rest assured that I am."

"And can I rest assured that you will be… discreet about this entire visit?"

The doctor stared for a moment, eyebrows raised. Then he blinked quickly, and raised his chin. "My job is to preserve life and good health, not to gossip like an old woman."

He turned away, setting his bag down on the floor and pulling the sheet away from Erik's torso. He reached to touch the bandage, then glanced at Christine. "You should probably step from the room, mademoiselle."

Christine toyed fretfully with the front of her skirts, swallowing awkwardly. "I… I have seen it before." He eyed her for a moment, but said nothing more, merely bent to retrieve a small pair of steel scissors from his bag to cut the bandage.

Christine sucked in a breath, closing her eyes and looking away. She could hear the doctor snipping away the bandage, the silence as he examined the wound, but her eyes flew open when he exclaimed, "You fool, you didn't remove the bullet!"

Nadir stepped forward, a perplexed frown on his face. "What?"

"Medical knowledge, my foot!" the doctor fumed, running his hand through his graying hair. He let out a long breath. "Excuse my reaction, monsieur, but how can you claim to have medical knowledge but somehow miss the fact that parts of the bullet are still inside?"

Nadir looked torn between embarrassment, worry and frustration. "I never claimed to be an expert; my limited knowledge runs more in the line of illnesses. Besides, there is an exit wound – "

"Yes, yes, an exit wound," Gautier replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Part of the bullet came out. There are still shards throughout the entire area."

"But… how?"

"It is very possible that the bullet struck the hip bone and shattered. In fact, it is most likely. It would account for the raggedness of the wound. I will know more when I remove the pieces."

With a sigh, he pulled off his coat, draping it neatly over the bedpost and glancing over at the washstand. "If you could refill that bowl with clean water, please…"

"Wait!" Christine stepped quickly in front of the doctor as he moved towards the washstand. "What are you going to do?"

"I must perform surgery on the wound, of course," he replied, looking surprised. "It is the only way to remove all the pieces."

"Surgery?" she replied slowly. "It… couldn't you just… pluck the pieces out? From the surface?"

"Of course not." For a moment, Gautier's expression was one of condescension, but it softened to sympathy. "If my prediction is correct – if the bullet hit bone and shattered as it exited the abdomen – there will be many shards, scattered deep throughout the entire area."

Christine stared down at Erik, fiddling mindlessly with the ring on her finger. Gautier noticed the nervous fidgeting. "It will not be a pretty sight. It is best you leave the room, Madame."

"Mademoiselle," Christine corrected faintly. The doctor glanced down at the ring, but said nothing.

Christine jumped when Darius touched her arm – she hadn't even noticed him enter the room.

"Come, Christine."

She shook her head slowly. "I would like to stay."

The doctor stared in disbelief. "I must assume you are joking!" He scowled disapprovingly. "It is not at all appropriate for a young lady to be present during surgery!"

Christine opened her mouth to protest, but Darius grasped her arm more firmly.

"Please, Christine," Nadir said quietly. "You wouldn't want to see this."

X X X

The hotel's small sitting room seemed to be more a library than anything else – the walls were lined with books of all kinds, and her gaze bounced nervously from one title to the other, her hands knotting her dress agitatedly in her lap. She strained to hear any sound from the room on the landing, but there was none.

An aged grandfather clock ticked steadily in the corner. The newspaper Darius read crackled each time he moved. A gray cat crouched under an armchair and thumped its tail loudly. She wanted to scream.

She was clenching her hands so tightly they were cramping – she loosened them slowly, smoothing the wrinkled fabric.

"Darius," she whispered. The sound came out hoarse and raspy; she cleared her throat and tried again. "Darius."

This time he looked up from his paper, raising his eyebrows in an invitation to speak.

"How does Monsieur Nadir know Erik?"

Surprise registered in Darius' dark eyes. "You do not know?"

"No."

He blinked several times, glancing up at the staircase. "If you do not know about Erik, perhaps it is not my position to tell."

There was a long silence.

"Monsieur, I do not know anything about that man except that I love him. Now he may be… dying…" her lips stumbled over the word and she paused before she trusted herself to speak again. "Please… just tell me _something_."

Darius watched her for a moment. He let out a long breath before speaking. "Nadir and Erik met many years ago, in Persia."

Christine stared. "Persia? Erik was in Persia?"

"Yes. They were both involved in the royal court. Nadir was Daroga… that means chief of police. Erik was – " He paused. "I do not know the word. Magician? No, that is not quite right. It was more than that. Conjurer… designer… political… he had much influence."

Christine blinked slowly. "Influence? How so?"

"It is hard for me to say, mademoiselle. There are no specific words. He was… highly favored. For a time. For many reasons… his feats of conjuring were astonishing, his skills of design and architecture without compare. He was… is… very clever. Very cunning. Both highly prized attributes at the Persian court."

"Influence…" Christine repeated. "Designer, inventor… what did he invent?"

"Many things, mademoiselle. Everything from child's toys to a great palace – "

The sound of a door latch halted the conversation and Christine shot from her seat, Darius's words forgotten as she turned to see Gautier emerge from the room and step out onto the landing, followed by Nadir. The doctor was conversing with him in low tones, and he turned his head to Christine as she rushed over to the staircase, gripping the banister tightly as the pair descended. "Doctor Gautier?" she breathed. "He – what…" she tripped over the words and closed her mouth quickly, not wanting to give the impression of a stammering child.

Gautier set his bag down as he reached the bottom step, taking a moment to button his coat. "I removed all fragments of the bullet, and thoroughly cleansed the wound," he said, smoothing the lapels of his coat. "Which should increase his chances. All you can pray is that the infection and inflammation will subside." He picked up his bag again and tipped his hat to her and Nadir. "Good day, Mademoiselle."

As soon as the heavy front door had closed behind him, Christine turned to Nadir, a question in her eyes. "May I…?"

Nadir gave the smallest of shrugs. "Of course. I know you will anyway."

She brushed past him, her feet sounding hollow on the stairs, moving quickly down the long landing and swinging the bedroom door wide open. Her eyes flitted from the wadded, bloodstained sheet on the floor, to the pink-tinged water in the porcelain bowl, to the freshly white bandage tight around Erik's lower torso.

"Oh, Erik," she murmured hoarsely, crossing the room and sinking to her knees at the bedside. His face was flushed but serene, his breathing peaceful, and Christine realized the doctor must have given him some drug.

"Erik, you have a chance… don't give in. Please… stay with me." She rested her forehead against the mattress, letting her eyes drift shut. She couldn't remember a time in her life when she had felt so emotionally drained.

Wait – yes, she could. When her father had died. Those days had been filled with misery and childish confusion – but more a dull, numb grief than this raw, wrenching pain she felt now...

She didn't know how long she stayed in that position, drifting in and out of a light doze and fragmented dreams until a touch to her shoulder startled her.

"Your muscles will cramp if you sleep like that," Nadir said mildly. He was holding a small bowl. "The owner's wife was kind enough to make this for you." He handed it to her. "You must eat something."

She agreed. Now that food was placed in front of her, she recognized the gnawing ache in her stomach and realized that she hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. Her stomach must be trying to eat her from the inside out. She took several bites of the thick porridge, tasting a hint of brown sugar and cinnamon. "Thank you," she said after she swallowed. She wanted to eat, but her mind was preoccupied – she kept missing her mouth with the spoon. She finished the porridge quickly and set the bowel down on the wooden floor, biting her lip before saying "Nadir… what are we going to do?"

He had settled himself into the chair, and he glanced up at her. "What is there _to _do?" He paused for a moment. "I strongly suggest that you return to the Vicomte's sister." Christine opened her mouth to protest, but he shushed her with a wave of his hand. "No, listen to me. Chagny will be looking for you soon, if not already. Do you really want a repeat of what happened before?"

She shook her head vehemently. "_No!_"

"Then you must go back."

She shook her head violently again. "No, no, I don't want to...

"I will be in touch."

"No, Nadir, I don't want to go, I want to stay with Erik – "

"Christine Daae! Stop being such a child!" Nadir fixed her with a look that made her snap her mouth shut. "If you stay here, the Vicomte _will_ find you! Are you that willing to endanger Erik's life and both your futures?" He stopped abruptly, and sucked in a deep breath, his face softening. "I apologize, Christine. That was uncalled for."

"No… you're right." She hung her head, staring into her lap, her cheeks burning. He _was_ right. She hadn't even thought of Raoul.

Nadir extended a finger and titled her chin back up. "Return to his sister's house. Apologize for your absence – invent an excuse. Tell them you needed time to think, to be alone." Christine nodded slowly, swallowing hard.

Nadir stood and offered her his hand. She took it, and he pulled her gently to her feet. "Good girl."

He watched as Christine turned, pressing a long and tremulous kiss to Erik's forehead, his lips, his cheek. She squeezed his hand tightly, brushing her lips on his palm.

She turned back when she reached the doorway, her damp eyes lingering on Erik for a long moment before glancing at Nadir and following him out the door.

When she and Nadir were outside on the busy street, he hailed a brougham for her and helped her step inside. He shut the door and placed his hand on the windowsill, looking up at Christine.

"I might be wrong," he said slowly. She frowned in puzzlement for a moment. "You are a brave young woman, Mademoiselle. Erik would be proud of you."

Her eyes filled with grateful tears, and she placed her hand over his, mouthing the words _thank you_. Nadir gave her a small smile, and stepped away from the carriage, signaling to the driver. The cab jerked to a start and rattled away down the road, Christine's small pale face disappearing from view.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: **I was having problems with this chapter, but then I sat down tonight and wrote it all in one go… due mostly to the fact that I just finished watching Phantom, and, after much weeping, ran down here to make myself feel better. :D Anyway, I'm not quite sure if I like this chapter… but I've worked on it for several hours now and I can't think of anything else to do with it. Hope it works. :)

Lucrecia LeVrai: At last, my quest for longer chapters has been achieved!

babymene17: Do _any _of us like Raoul? lol!

mrmistoffelees: About the Star Wars thing… it was about how at the end of Chapter 9, Erik says "I love you" and Christine says "I know." I didn't even realize I was making a reference to Star Wars until somebody (who I'm assuming is a fan) pointed it out to me. :) And about your review… hey, I will do anything to please Erik. Wait, that didn't sound right… not _anything_… well, yes. Anything. XD

Becky and Clayphan16: She's not going back to Raoul exactly, just back to Marie's because otherwise, Raoul will find her, with Erik, and then the st will hit the fan…

et-spiritus-sancti: I have no idea where to find the Kay book online. I'll ask around and let you know when I find it. :)

Nade-Naberrie: Your review had me in stitches! XD

Chapter 21

The moment Christine arrived back at the house, Marie swept down the wide staircase like a mother bird and enfolded her in a relieved embrace.

"Oh, Christine!" she said breathlessly. "I was so worried! Where on earth have you been?"

"I'm so sorry, I went out on a walk, early this morning – " Christine swallowed hard " – and I lost track of time." She felt a pang of guilt for lying to this kind woman, who had shown her nothing but kindness. "Did you find my note?"

"Why yes, I did – I'm such a heavy sleeper, I must not have even noticed when you came in! But... a walk?"

"Yes, I thought you would've assumed such when you found my note… I should have been more specific instead of just mentioning that I was borrowing a cloak." Christine pulled the item in question off her shoulders, and a maid materialized from nowhere and bore it away. "I apologize for borrowing it without asking; was it terribly forward of me?"

"No, it is fine," Marie replied distractedly. "Its just…" she looked troubled. "You went out walking without chaperone or companion?"

Christine bit her lip. Had she made some inappropriate faux pas? "Was that wrong of me?"

"Christine…" Marie looked slightly pained. "I do not wish to hurt your feelings in any way, especially under my roof. I do not at all consider you to be improper, but it is only natural for you to have a different sense of… propriety than people such as myself."

Christine's cheeks burned; she looked away, but Marie caught her chin gently. "Please don't be upset, Christine – I mean this in the nicest of ways." It was true; her voice held no scorn, merely kindness. "You are by all means a modest and proper girl, but I know your life at the theater has not well prepared you to be the wife of nobility. In order to be considered at all decent in the upper levels of society, there are certain social guidelines that must be followed."

"One of them being… no walks alone."

"Yes. There are correct ways for everything. I could stand here all day and dictate them to you, but… simply, there are things you do and things you don't do."

Christine wondered what "improprieties" she had committed already, and Erik was brought instantly to mind. She blushed again. "I'm sorry, Marie, if I've shamed you in any way – "

"It is nothing." Marie interrupted. "It is not your fault. I will teach you everything needed to instill a correct sense of decorum." She ushered Christine into the dining room. "Now, you must be famished. I'll have the cook to make you something."

X X X

The week passed by at its normal speed. Several times a day Christine hurried upstairs to feel anxiously under her pillow for a note, but none came.

Marie took her out on the town, shopping and walking in the Bois and to luncheons with her friends. Christine felt awkward and uncomfortable under the critical eyes of the high-society women; but Chagny was a famous and respected name, and, with the unspoken protection of Marie at her side, the upper crust women were aloofly civil, if far from warm.

Raoul visited almost every day for lunch or dinner, asking about her health, commenting on her lovely new clothes, or telling her of the plans for the Opera.

"It will be reopened," he informed her one day over a cup of tea. "It will take quite some time, of course, but my parents are willing to help fund the extensive renovations. The fire only reached the top several levels, you know."

Christine wasn't sure how she felt about this, so she just smiled and nodded. Raoul grinned back at her and continued, "We've decided to hold a ball in a month, in hopes that the finest families in Paris will feel entitled to donate to the Opera's restoration." He winked at her, and she had to smile in return.

"It will be wonderful, Christine. Filled with the crème-de-la-crème… everybody knows the Chagnys hold the best balls in France!" He took a sip of tea, then set the cup back in its saucer with a clink. "I'd like you to come with me."

"But you just said – everyone who's anyone will be there. Wouldn't your parents rather you escort a lady more… distinguished?"

"They would," Raoul replied, tipping his chin up arrogantly. "But I have my heart set on you, Christine, and they shall have to accept that I will be arriving at the ball _with you._" He leaned forward and have her a chaste kiss.

Christine let him, feeling slightly guilty but knowing there was nothing to be done about it. What could she say? _Please don't kiss me, my dear, I'm in love with the Opera Ghost._

"So, Christine, will you come?"

She let out a breath and couldn't help but smile at him. "Yes, Raoul."

X X X

The ball was to be held in four weeks, giving the Chagny family time to prepare, along with the rest of high society. There were invitations to be sent out by the hundreds, a menu to prepare, musicians to hire, décor and floral arrangements to decide on.

The shops were packed with wealthy young ladies, picking out ribbons and jewelry, shoes and gloves, baubles and fans, being measured for lavish dresses and deciding on the perfect fabrics and frills, gossiping all the while about who would be there, who they hoped to see, and which young men they hoped to fill their dance cards with.

Christine's mind was boggled by the extravagance but, like the girl she was, she couldn't help but delight in it. She and Marie flitted from shop to shop like overexcited butterflies, oohing and aahing over laces and silks and brocades. Christine was fitted for a ball gown, outrageously expensive but heartily approved by Marie. The pale gold taffeta, drawn up in the back and cascading down over a full skirt and train, tight bodice, low neckline and off-the shoulder sleeves made Christine felt like a child playing dress up in the stunning ensemble. Shifting and turning in front of the circle of mirrors in the dressmaker's shop, she voiced her thoughts aloud. Marie just laughed. "Oh no, you're not overdressed at all – not by far. There will be ladies there with gowns three times as extravagant! It is always so when a wealthy family holds a ball as huge as this one will be."

Christine knew the money for the dress had come from Raoul, and later she thanked him profusely for it. "Think of it as a wedding present," he replied with a grin. A cold frisson ran down her spine, but she forced a smile and offered her cheek for a kiss.

Guilt plagued her at night. Here she was, with Raoul showering her with gifts and Marie housing her under her own roof, taking her shopping and treating her like a sister. But that's just what they expected - they considered her Raoul's fiancée! It was just... every time she laughed with Marie, or fussed over a hat in a milliner's window, or had lunch with Raoul, she felt a pang of guilt that she knew she would leave them in the blink of an eye.

_If Erik is alive, that is._

She tried to banish the thought from her mind, but it stayed like a relentless little needle in her brain. A fortnight had passed since she had left the hotel, and not a word from Nadir as he had promised.

The ball was in three weeks. Raoul was planning to formally announce their engagement then. Her stomach churned at the thought – not only of allowing him to believe that she loved him, but at the idea of all society knowing that the son of one of the most important families in Paris was marrying a mere opera singer. And if she _did_ marry him… oh God, the thought was too horrible. Raoul himself was not horrible, but the thought of betraying the one to whom her heart truly belonged… an atrocious and misery-inducing idea.

If she broke the engagement, she would most likely be ruined. Scandal and gossip would follow her wherever she went, and when the name Christine Daae was mentioned, someone would say "She's the girl that left the Vicomte de Chagny." The working classes would wonder why on earth she refused the wealth and fame that accompanied the title of Victomtess... and the upper class would look down on her in condescension and distaste as a trollop who didn't recognize her betters. She would be hard pressed to find work – certainly not at the Opera Populaire where the Chagny's were the patrons!

Damned if she did, damned if she didn't. It made her head hurt to think of it all. She could only pray for a solution.

X X X

When the dress arrived a week later, customized perfectly to Christine's measurements, a small black and gold mask accompanied it.

"Its for the ball, of course," Marie replied when Christine questioned her about it. "A masquerade, don't you know?"

Christine didn't.

When she confronted Raoul the next day, he smiled sheepishly. "I didn't want to tell you, dear," he explained apologetically. "I thought the idea of a masquerade might spook you away."

"Don't you think a masquerade might be somewhat tasteless, considering…"

"Yes, I do," he replied. "That's why it's not a full masquerade. No costumes, no disguises, just decorative little masks."

"But… why masks at all?"

"It was my parents' idea – keeping with the 'theater' theme, you know. After all, the Opera's renovation is the whole point of the ball." He eyed her for a moment, then said gently, "I doubted that you'd be fond of the idea, especially after… well. But you have no reason to worry. Why, the masks worn to this kind of thing are so small, you can easily recognize everyone!"

She smiled faintly, and he returned the smile with a pleased, boyish grin of his own. _Oh Erik,_ she thought as Raoul embraced her, the expensive fabric of his frock coat pressing into her cheek as he talked of their engagement and wedding. _Erik._

X X X

Christine was somewhat subdued at dinner that evening. Marie talked animatedly about the ball, the guests and her husband's return from the country. "He'll be back tomorrow," she said happily, "And then, only another week until the dance!"

Christine did not grudge Marie her excitement – in fact, she shared it – but no matter what she filled her days with, the fact remained in her mind that Nadir _had not sent a note. _A million possibilities had whirled through her mind the past three weeks, each more disastrous than the last. She trusted Nadir – she believed his promise to be in touch with her. Had he merely forgotten, distracted by some other more important issue? Or had he somehow been rendered _incapable_ of contacting her?

Frustrated, she stabbed at her roast lamb with her fork, becoming even more agitated when the fork impaled itself on bone and she had to use her knife to dislodge it.

_Relax, Christine,_ her mind soothed. _Patience._

After dinner, they moved to the sitting room and Marie embroidered while Christine read aloud from a book of poetry. She had little aptitude for needlework, as she had discovered in the past few weeks, but Marie declared she had a "lovely speaking voice" and so, most nights, she read.

It was not even nine o'clock when her eyelids began to droop, her tongue tripping over the simplest of sentences and misreading words when her vision blurred.

"Off to bed with you, then," Marie said with a teasing smile and a wave of her arm towards the door. They had both been up late last night poring over fashion plates… Marie had yet to decide on a gown, and the time to choose was fast slipping away.

Christine replaced the book on the shelf and bid Marie goodnight with a kiss to the cheek. Her feet were heavy as she plodded up the wide stairway, and she declined the maid's offer to help her with her nighttime toilette.

It was deathly quiet upstairs, and the click of the brass door handle seemed unnaturally loud as she opened it. Her senses tingled as she stepped into the pitch black of her bedroom. Her breathing and the rustle of her skirts was the only sound, and she felt along the wall for the gaslight, adjusting the little knob until the faint hissing broke the quiet and light bloomed in the darkness.

She turned away from the wall, and let out a hoarse shocked shriek when she saw Erik reclining comfortably on the bed.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: **My humble apologies for such a slow update, especially with that cliffhanger! I've been busy with the last few weeks of school, working my poor little butt off so I wouldn't fail… well actually, don't sympathize with me, its my own fault. :P Also, I've just figured out how to use Window's Movie Maker, and I've made several Phantom videos in the past few weeks. Go to my profile to check it out. :)

Also, just wanted to let you know, there's a lot of book!Erik coming through in this chapter.

Sandra: I'm going to try to keep the weeping and sobbing to a minimum! Although that's what I would most likely do if I were in her situation…

Misty Breyer: Yeah I have a passion for Victorian era clothing… that paragraph was originally like half a page long, just describing the dress, but it was getting ridiculous so I had to shave a bunch off:P

Killer Veggies: hehe I was wondering if anybody would guess.

Pirates are a girls bestfriend: Thanks a lot, but I just found it online. I appreciate it though!

Ziroana: Fluff is on the way!

Banana71588: Was just checking out your profile… my name is Anna too. hehe.

Mymagic: Because cliffhangers are fuuuuun. lol j/k.

Nirselen: Wouldn't we all!

TheLizzy: I'm glad you don't think this is a "bad phic"! lol!

AR5989: Don't worry, I already thought of that. It will be explained. :)

erik'sangel527: Sexy indeed!

et-spiritus-sancti: Okay, I've got the Kay book in text format now. If you want it, just email me. :)

ShaShiSar221: I don't _try _to have cliffhangers; it just always seems like a good place to leave off:P

Captain Oblivious: Oh, do you speak French?

PhantomsHeart: haha, Erik lying on the bed for 11 days!

Sarah: In the middle of Chapter 19, it explains how Darius pays the driver. And on the way back to Raoul's… well I admit that I didn't really think about it. I didn't think it was absolutely necessary to include that. :P

Chapter 22

Christine's hand flew to her mouth; her lungs constricted, her heart seemed to stop, knees weakened. "Is everything alright?" came the maid's concerned voice from the hallway.

Christine nodded slowly; then realized the maid couldn't see the action and replied haltingly, "Yes, yes, I'm fine; I just saw a mouse…"

She heard the maid's retreating footsteps as if they were being drummed into her ears – it was the only sound in the dead quiet of the room, the only sound penetrating the shock in her brain. The silence was so thick it seemed possible to cut it with a knife.

Erik lounged casually on the bed as if he has always done so, sitting back easily against the cushions and pillows as if they were his own. His hands were linked loosely in his lap, his mile-long legs stretched towards the foot of the bed and crossed neatly at the ankle.

His mask; spotless. Hair; perfect. Clothes; impeccable. He seemed an illusion… but his eyes, those piercing eyes burned with emotion in the dim light, touching something deep inside her and breaking the spell of shock that held her.

He extended one hand towards her. "Christine."

In one moment she was at his side, her body flung half on, half off his body, her fingers fumbling to touch him. Oh God, he was so solid, so real, live and breathing under her! His heart beating just against her ear, his strong hands on her waist, a reality that she could tighten her arms around.

He stroked her hair gently as she wept. "Hush… I am here."

When she had calmed, she lay languidly as if dead, eyes half closed and her fingers toying with the lapels of his jacket. She could smell the faint aroma of his cologne, the masculine scent that was entirely Erik. She sucked in a shuddering breath of liberation, and it seemed it was the first full lungful of air she had taken in all these weeks.

He shifted slightly beneath her, and kissed the top of her head. "You're going to have to get off me, my dear."

Oh, his voice! A wave of love and sheer relief swept through her, and she smiled through her tears, nestling her head beneath his chin. "I don't want to ever let you go again, Erik."

A laugh rolled through him, resonating at her ear. "That's quite touching, but I'm afraid you must. You're hurting me."

She pulled back, touching his abdomen. "Oh, I'm sorry, Erik…" she fingered the fabric of his waistcoat for a moment before sinking down beside him, settling her head into his shoulder and gazing up at him. It was a moment before she could speak without her voice trembling with utter overwhelming emotion. "It still pains you?"

"Very little, he replied, encircling her waist with his arm. "But your hip was digging into the area most uncomfortably."

She pressed her cheek into his shoulder, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath. "Oh, Erik…" she titled her head back to gaze at him, and compressed her lips tightly to stave off a fresh wave of joyful tears. His face was so close it blurred her vision. The strong line of his jaw, the dark shine of his hair, those blue-green eyes regarding her with a mixture of love and sheer energy….

When he kissed her, she thought her heart would break from the tender beauty of the simple, gentle contact of his lips on hers.

His arm was around her, and her body pressed against his. A feeling of utter safety settled around her and seemed to lull her to sleep, and she was not quite sure when she let her eyes close.

X X X

The next morning she awoke with a start. The firm, warm body beside her was certainly not a pillow!

The maid knocked at eight, as she usually did, but Christine opened the door a tiny crack and dismissed her through it, saying that she would ready herself this morning. Claudette seemed dubious, and must have thought her quite odd, but went away without another word.

Christine settled herself in front of the vanity table and heaved a sigh at the sight of the tangled mane of curls. She regularly braided her hair before bed, to avoid this very problem, but the state of her hair had been the last thing on her mind last night.

She watched Erik in the mirror as she worked through the snarls. He had discarded only his jacket during the night, but had somehow managed to remove her dress and corset without waking her. _The sleep after a long bout of tears is always more a state of unconsciousness than actual sleep, _she remembered someone saying to her once. She smiled at the thought of Erik's concern for her comfort.

She felt she could watch him all day – her eyes seemed riveted to him, drinking in the sight of him after so many weeks of worry and distress. He looked no different than he had that fateful day at the inn, but to see such a profound change from his sickness almost unnerved her. But it also comforted her, reinforcing the fact that Erik was a stability in her life, a constant presence that she simply could not do without. But he was also an excitement; a spontaneous, passionate energy that never failed to send thrills down her spine.

She hadn't disentangled even half the knots before he awoke. He stretched lazily like a great cat, the muscles in his neck flexing as he arched his back. He slid gracefully off the rumpled bed and crossed the room, coming up behind her and placing his hands on his shoulders and kissing her cheek. She blushed with contentment at the simple gesture and smiled at him in the mirror.

"Let me." He took the brush from her with one hand and gathered the mass of her hair in the other, running his fingers through it for a moment before putting the brush to use.

His stroke was steady and somehow soothing, his fingers gentle as they worked out the tangles. She watched his reflection for a while before closing her eyes and relaxing under his calming touch. When he pronounced himself finished and her hair in order, she resisted the urge to request him to continue, and instead asked, "Why did Monsieur Nadir never send a note?"

"I was only fully recovered a day or two ago," he replied, wrapping her hair once around his hand and letting it fall again. "I thought such a message should delivered in person. Literally, in person."

"You and your infernal arrogance!" she exclaimed, but could not hide a smile. After the torment of the past few weeks, she could forgive him anything.

She stood and retrieved a clean chemise from the wardrobe, changing behind a screen while Erik teased her about her inherent sense of modesty.

"Erik," she said as she selected several articles of clothing from the wardrobe, "Take this." She waved a corset in his general direction while thumbing through gowns and petticoats.

He eyed her for a moment, his eyes flicking to the garments hanging so neatly in the cherry wood closet. "You can't dress yourself?"

"No. And don't give me that look – " Erik lowered his eyebrow. " – dressing in this sort of clothing is new to me, and since Claudette – "

"Who's Claudette?"

"The maid. Since she's not here, you'll have to help me."

Erik arched his visible eyebrow again, but the expression was lost on Christine as she hooked the corset in front and turned her back to him, reaching around and pulling her hair out of the way.

He thought of several snide remarks, but decided against voicing them, for once. He had no wish to ruin this idyllic morning. He began picking at the laces, but after a moment she said, "You'll have to do it harder than that, Erik."

"I won't comment on the inappropriate phrasing of that sentence," he replied calmly, giving her a quick tug, and she blushed.

There was something personal about him dressing her; something sweet and intimate about his steady hands pulling on the laces the way a husband might. He helped her with a navy blue morning gown and began buttoning up the long row of tiny buttons in the back, humming to her under his breath.

Would every morning be like this? It was one of her fondest wishes. And to think that only a few months ago her wish was to be rid of that very bond that tied her to Erik! Now it was the exact opposite.

The thought made her laugh, and he inquired as to the source of her amusement. "I was just thinking," she responded, "that it would be nice to do this every morning."

"Would it, now."

"Yes. Then go downstairs for breakfast, and eat in the dining room with the windows open and the breeze coming in. Oh, Marie has the most beautiful dining room, positioned just right so the morning sun shines in..."

"Such fantasies you have," he chided, but his tone was not mocking. "It has been a long time since I've had a meal in the sun."

"Yes, when you were in Persia?"

The remark was innocent enough, but his hands stopped, and she turned her head back slightly. "Erik?"

There was a long moment before he continued with the buttons. "What do you know of Persia?"

Christine turned to face him when he fastened the last button. His face was composed but there was a telltale tautness along his jaw, a tension in his body and a stiffness in his voice. She frowned slightly. "Darius told me that you and Nadir once lived there."

The expression on his face was so odd; she reached out to touch his cheek gently, but he turned away, moving to the vanity table and agitatedly fiddling with the items there. Comb, brush, powder, hand mirror…

"Why, was it wrong of him to tell me?" He didn't reply, and she took a cautious step forward. "Erik?"

He set down the brush forcefully, and the sound made her jump. She bit her lip and hurried forward, setting her hand on his shoulder and turning her towards him. "Are you angry with me? Why does my mention of Persia upset you so?" He looked past her for a moment, then returned his gaze to hers. "No, Christine. I am not angry with you." He reached up and took her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. She anticipated a reply to her second question, but when none came, she repeated herself.

"It is nothing," he answered carelessly. The stiffness in his body was gone, and he looked calm and relaxed, as if he had had a momentary scare but the fright had passed. She was almost fooled… but his eyes were giving him away.

"It is not nothing," she insisted. "Something's wrong. I can see it in your eyes. That won't help," she added as he averted his gaze. He merely walked away, retrieving his coat from the bedside table where it was draped and slipping it on with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

She sighed. "You are so stubborn." Again, she waited for him to speak and again he remained silent.

"Are you going to explain anything, Erik?"

"Why? There's nothing to explain."

"I don't believe you."

"You don't have to."

She ground her teeth for a moment. "Stop attempting to be mysterious. You're not a ghost anymore, no longer a specter or phantom. You're a man, a man I love and a man with a past. Am I meant to lead a life with you without knowing anything about you?"

"Some things are better left in the past."

"Don't be cryptic, Erik."

"Don't be meddlesome," he replied nonchalantly.

She wasn't tricked by his casual airs. "I won't let this go, Erik. I cannot leave this unanswered, hanging like a shadow over us."

He grinned at her statement. "This is quite interesting. You've changed, my dear. The Christine I once knew would hesitate to defy me."

"Are you mocking me?"

He cocked his head slightly. "Why yes; I believe I am."

Christine stared at him for a moment. His entire demeanor had changed from the relaxed, almost playful attitude of just minutes ago – now he stood with his feet apart, arms crossed, chin up and eyes hard. He was always so confident and masculine, power radiating from him as if from a fire inside… but now that power seemed transformed into a rigid, arrogant derision that frightened her, though she tried not to let it show. She felt like a child, pulling at a wounded dog's tail incessantly until it turned and snapped at her. She chose her next words carefully.

"Erik, I don't mean to anger you, or thrust you into a discussion you are obviously not willing to have. I don't want to be a nagging shrew like those shopkeepers' wives you see out on the street, harping on their poor husbands." She thought she saw the barest of smiles grace his lips… but it was so fleeting, she was sure she had imagined it. But just in case, she continued along the same track. "I don't want to make you speak of something that pains you, merely to satisfy my interest. I don't want to pressure you; I don't want to hurt you. I just want to know you."

"I can assure you, there are things you would much rather remain ignorant about." His words were curt and clipped, and she approached him slowly. "Speak to me, Erik… tell me what's on your mind." Her voice was having a soothing effect on him – she could see it in his stance, the tension slowly leaving his jaw and his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. She continued in the same tone.

"Whatever it is that plagues you, it will have no effect on my view of you." She set her hand gently on his crossed arms, and he let out a long breath. "Whatever you have done, I shall forgive you." But with that last sentence, something inside him seemed to snap.

"What I have done" He threw off her hand, grabbing her wrist and jerking her to him. "_What I have done?_ Do you have any idea what you speak of?" She gasped and shrank away but his grip was like iron, and he tugged her back.

"No, stay!" he roared. "You wish to hear my story? You want to hear of the things I have done? Then listen, _listen to me!_"

Christine could hear footsteps outside the door – she tried to pull away from his grasp but he seized both her wrists roughly. "I have killed countless men," he snarled, "Killed them! Innumerable lives, destroyed by my hand! A cleverly tied piece of rope, or a series of tortures you could never imagine… or a torture _chamber_! Do you want to hear about that, my dear? A room of glass, the likes of which you have never envisioned… a wall of illusions, a chamber of deceit, delusions to make your head whirl round until you died! All to satisfy a sadist who had no thought for my genius except to put it to malevolent use…" he was raving now, a man lost in his memories and unaware of the hammering on the bedroom door. "Oh, the fantasies that spun in my head, the designs I dreamt up; the things I could have created!"

Erik's grasp on her wrists tightened and she cried out in pain and fear. "Are you happy?" he thundered, "Are you satisfied with your new knowledge? Forgiveness, you said! Are you capable of forgiving now that you have heard all?" He flung her aside with a cry of rage and she stumbled and fell into the bed, clutching at the covers to steady herself.

"Christine!" came the voices from outside, "Christine! Open the door!" She jerked her head around but the room was empty – the window was open. The curtains fluttered gently, tranquil and serene in the midst of the chaos.

She staggered towards the door and unlocked it with a trembling hand – Marie, Claudette and seemingly the whole household poured into the room. "It was a robber…" Christine gasped out the lie as Marie embraced her, and she did not have to fake her tears.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: **Sorry again for the slow update. I was away at camp for a week, getting 30+ mosquito bites and a horrific sunburn. However, I was able to get quite a bit of writing done. I'm still not sure if I like this chapter, but here it is. :)

Nicole Gruebel: Because she's silly and she has some growing up to do. Which will be revealed later in this chapter.

EarthDragonette: Aww, thank you so much for that review. I love getting reviews where people tell specifically what they did or didn't like!

Ethalas Tuath'an: Ditto to what I said to EarthDragonette. :D

PhantomsHeart: That part of the chapter makes me laugh each time I read it. :P

All That Remains: Because I'm sadistic like that. j/k!

Misty Breyer: That's Erik for ya. ;)

Jpink: The book is "Phantom" by Susan Kay. Its quite pricey to buy a new copy, but you could try finding it at a used bookstore. Or I could send you it in text format.

erikphan24601: Weird obsessed Erik phan? Is there any such thing? It's all perfectly natural. How can you not love him:D

Captain Oblivious: gahhh! Am most jealous.

et-spiritus-sancti: No problem! I have to share the Phantom love! (and isn't Kay Erik the sexiest thing alive? Well… not necessarily alive… but you get my point.)

Phantom: I'm hoping I've been writing it so it makes sense to people who haven't read the book. :)

Chapter 23

Erik swept through the doors of the fencing academy as if he were a dark demigod, rage seething from his skin the way steam hisses from hot coals.

He had attended the prestigious club for years – anonymously. Members' names were all kept in a book in the office, but the club was frequented by the wealthy and famous, so it was automatically assumed that anyone fencing there hadthe right to do so. It was not as if anybody checked under his jacket, mask and gloves to be sure he was registered.

He slipped into the storage room and, finding it empty, changed into his equipment. Not many of the members stored their gear at the club itself, but the space was offered if they wished to do so. He finished and left the room, skirting alongside the main hall to the lounge, passing the shuffle of feet and clangs of metal on metal.

There were only two pairs of fencers out on the strips – the club was almost empty today. A group of older men stood in an uneven circle examining a saber, while a pair of youths bantered good-naturedly, their voices echoing throughout the wooden paneling and soaring ceilings of the large hall.

Nobody paid him any mind; every man there was either wearing or holding a wire-mesh mask tucked under his arm, and Erik's was not at all out of place. Most might have thought it odd that he wore it while at rest, but it had never been commented on.

Erik had only a few moments to wait in the lounge before he was asked to a bout, by a grinning young pup who tossed his hair as if it were a flag. With a sneer, Erik rose from the armchair, slipping on his glove and following the strutting boy to an empty fencing strip.

The boy grinned proudly at an older man in fencing whites – most likely his father – who sat in a row of chairs along side the wall.

"Good luck, lad," the man called out. "And remember, watch your point."

_Watch your point?_ Erik thought. Only beginners were given such menial advice. In such a mood as he was now, he would easily demolish the young man's simple novice attacks.

The pair saluted, their foils whipping through the air before the men settled into the en garde position. The boy remained in the pose for mere seconds before launching into a quick lunge. Erik easily parried the move and his opponent countered with a hasty riposte, retreating quickly as Erik advanced. He moved swiftly, stalking the young man to the end of the strip before feinting an attack. The boy fell for the deception, thrusting his blade too soon and leaving his chest open for Erik's lunge. The tip hit his opponent's jacket solidly, and the youth let out a growl of frustration.

Erik let the boy make the next two touches, slowing his parries and over exaggerating his moves to make them predictable. As Erik expected, after that brief victory the lad began to get cocky… and after the touches, Erik toyed with him, feinting and false-attacking, moving slowly and leaving his target area vulnerable until the last moment, then parrying and retreating swiftly as his opponent attacked, leaving the boy confused and disoriented.

Erik was usually very focused on his fencing – but this boy seemed to have as much skill as a barnyard chicken, and it required no great expertise to evade his attacks. It was likely a good thing, too, because Erik had not the strength of mind to pay attention to the intricate footwork and deceptive moves that fencing required. His mind was still back in that bedroom, racing over the events of the morning.

_Why, Christine, why?_ He fumed with anger at her consistent, prying little questions, so innocent to her but yet so painful to him. Why wouldn't she let it go? Why would she not accept his refusal to speak of Persia? Of the horrors that lay in his past, the brutal butcheries, the atrocities he had no desire to remember… he had unleashed his temper on her, maybe too harshly, but she had poked and prodded the unseen wound until he could not standthe painany more.

The youth launched into another weak attack and Erik reacted with too much force, his rage conveyed in the rapid defensive move as his foil clashed ruthlessly with his opponent's, sliding harshly down the other blade until the handles almost touched.

_Damn you!_ Erik cursed her in his mind. Damn the bewildered, frightened look in her eyes as he raged at her, her slender body shrinking away from his touch as the terrors of his past screamed from his lips. She had spoken forgiveness, claimed to pardon any transgressions he had committed. But the fear in her face had disproved her naive words.

He lashed out in a quick series of complex attacks and the young man seemed startled by Erik's vehemence, but retreated quickly as Erik disengaged and put his opponent's blade into a forceful bind. Surprisingly, the boy recovered easily and crossed over several steps backwards. It meant that Erik was showing his patterns, revealing too soon what attacks he would use next. He couldn't concentrate on his moves.

_No matter,_ Erik thought. His racing thoughts were far from fencing; how could he be expected to focus on the swordplay, even with an opponent so inexperienced as this one? But if he could channel that fuming anger and betrayal into the stretch of his arm and flexibility of his hands, the swiftness of muscles and sharpness of reflex, he would win this bout in moments, despite his jumbled mind.

The next minute was a blur. His fury and resentment pounded through his head like an instinctive rhythm, driving his body and guiding each sweep of his arm. The boy's blade was knocked easily to the side by each stroke of Erik's, the youth's frantic attacks missing the target area each time as Erik hit touch after touch, finally driving his opponent off the end of the strip and sealing his victory.

The boy seemed momentarily upset, but bounced back easily from the loss. "Excellent bout, Monsieur!" he exclaimed, slipping off his mask and shaking his damp hair from his eyes, tugging off his glove and extending his hand to Erik.

Erik removed his glove but not the mask; he shook the boy's hand and nodded. If the lad was puzzled by the lack of the customary removal of the mask – which he obviously was by the slight frown on his face – then let him be. Almost every man he fenced with was confused by the absence of the courtesy gesture; some even offended.

Erik nodded his head again, more visibly, to compensate for not removing the mask. He turned on his heel and stalked away, flexing the blade of the foil between his fingers.

He felt no glory in his victory – the boy had been an inexperienced challenger, and the bout served only as an outlet for Erik's fury. The screaming, fiery rage had faded to an aching blend of betrayal and simmering anger.

The lounge was just as devoid of people as when he had left it. He set his foil into the wall-rack specifically for that purpose and settled himself into one of the leather armchairs in the corner, steepling his hands together and letting out a long breath.

Christine had never even mentioned what the Vicomte had done to him, Erik realized. Did she think it was an everyday occurrence for noblemen to order another man's execution?

It irritated him that his thoughts continuously returned to the subject. He gestured curtly to the barman and requested a cigar. The man brought one immediately and Erik removed his fencing mask, keeping the right side of his face to the wall. There was nobody here to see him anyway.

He drew in a deep breath on the cigar and exhaled slowly, the fragrant smoke curling around his long fingers and dissipating into the air. He had given up smoking years ago, to prevent damage to his voice, but he needed something to quell his strung out nerves; the lounge did not serve drinks this early in the day and there was certainly no morphine in the vicinity. He could ignore his own policy for once...

But it seemed that Christine made him break all the rules he had set for himself.

XXX

Marie could not convince Christine to accompany her to the train-station to pick up her husband. Strangely enough, nobody thought Christine's extreme distress was an unusual reaction to a burglar; but then again, many of the society women she had met so far had been squeamish, fragile individuals, so she supposed it was considered acceptable for her to be so distraught over the "break-in".

Marie left her with a cup of tea and a strong admonition to keep the windows locked. Christine did not reply that the windows had been locked the night before; the locks were easily overcome by Erik's mastery of such things.

Christine ran over his words in her mind as she lay on the divan in her room, sipping at the steaming tea and feebly smearing away tears every few moments. She cringed just at the memory of his fuming, towering form over her, his voice roaring the unspeakable horrors of his past.

_Foolish girl!_ She set the teacup down on its saucer on the low table and huddled beneath the blanket that Claudette had settled over her. She wiped away more tears with the back of her hand; tears for her curiosity, for his rage, for her fear of the atrocities which he had thrown at her like bullets. And that was the way his words sat, like heavy bits of lead in the bottom of her disbelieving brain.

_I have killed countless men!_ She shut her eyes tightly at visuals that flew through her head; Erik with his Punjab lasso, tightened around his victim's neck, a sneer on his face and blood on his hands…

She heard a faint whimper and realized it was from her own throat. She moaned again in the face of her ridiculous immaturity. She already knew he had killed; Buquet and Piangi were clear evidence of that. But somehow she had been able to ignore the actuality of the two deaths; maybe by covering up the image of Erik the murderer with an image of Erik the passionate, beautifuldark angel. Maybe by knowing that he had killed them for a purpose, instead of the meaningless carnage he had just spoken of.

However it happened, she had blocked out reality to save herself the pain that would accompany such harsh truth. Now she suffered the consequences.

_Forgiveness, you said! Are you capable of forgiving now that you have heard all? _

It was true; she had assured him of her eternal love for him, no matter his history or past deeds. But she could not have imagined the cruelties that he had spat like poison!

Did it change her outlook of him? Had she unknowingly lied when she proclaimed that she would forgive him anything? Could she ever look him in the eye without imagining murder there? She inwardly cowered at the visual of Erik's vicious glare, his eyes burning like flames in his skull while his strong hands cut short the life of another victim…

"Stop it!" She shrieked the words aloud, sitting straight up on the divan and clutching her hands to her head. The visual fled and she choked back a sob of anger; anger at herself.

She must stop this nonsense, these pointless fears of a threat that did not exist. Erik would never hurt her. She sucked in a ragged breath, and guilt swept through her like the air she inhaled.

Could she live with him, knowing the things he had done? Before she could answer her own question, another thought slinked through her head – he could live with her, knowing the things _she _had done. Twice he had disarmed him of his only protection; his mask. Twice! She had performed his Don Juan with the intent of betraying him; cast him aside on the roof of the Opera house; secretly planned to wed Raoul without a thought for her angel; cowered like a child when he placed the veil on her head. Erik had already shown her he had forgiven her these crimes; and they were only a few months past! And her she was, weeping like a sniveling spoiled brat, unable to forgive him for deeds that were older than she was!

She had been foolish; she had been childish. She had been thoughtless, careless, and irrational. Unlike Erik, who had always been by her side, despite her self-indulgent, juvenile acts. She felt shameful to think of the things she had done to him; shameful to think that even for a moment, she had thought she could not forgive him.

She pushed off the blanket and stood up, moving to the doorway with resolve in every footstep and her chin up high. She would find him; return to the hotel, kiss his lips, clasp his hands, fall on her knees if need be to show him that his past did not matter to her. She did not need to forgive him for anything; was his pardon that she needed.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N:** Alas, I wish I had a good excuse for not updating sooner! All I can do is blame it on the nefarious writer's block. I shall have to invoke the Muse:

_Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns  
driven time and again off course…_

_Launch out on his story, Muse, daughter of Zeus,  
start from where you will—sing for our time too._

There, I think that shall do nicely. Never mind that it was about Odysseus – pretend that it refers to Erik.

Also, my inbox has been flooded with emails asking me for the Kay book… and although I have no problem whatsoever sending it to whoever wants it, please remember that everything will be explained in the end! Even if you haven't read the book, it will all eventually make sense and nothing will be left unanswered. :)

Also, be sure to check out my other new fic, a one-shot called _The Ghost's Lady. _Apologies about the shortness of this chapter!

phantomann: I hadn't seen that movie before, but once I read your review, I actually went out and rented it, just to see that part… and you're totally right!

Nicole Gruebel: Dammit, I hate it when I make mistakes like that. :smacks forehead: But hey, I haven't done it much. :still smacks forehead:

Noni-Noelle: I'm a fencer, too... I would never have expected any others to read this fic:)

Pirates are a girls bestfriend: Yeah, my brother spilled soda over the keyboard and the keys keep getting stuck. I thought I had fixed all the mistakes… :sigh:

Emily singing reflection: Let me tell you, men in fencing whites can be quite sexy… ;)

Ethalas Tuath'an: Glad you liked it!

You're obedient servant O.G: So, have you been working on any of those drawings you mentioned? I'm so anxious to see them!

LilyEvansPotter4456: I really do fence. :)

Nade-Naberrie: Christine: "Eureka!"

jpink: Of course Erik fences, lol… how else would he have been able to pull off that swordfight scene with Raoul?

**Chapter 24**

Christine revisited the hotel only to find the room empty. She returned to Marie's home frustrated and in tears, the condition worsened when she had to pay off the saucy young parlor maid to keep quiet about Christine's unaccompanied expedition.

Was it possible that she had angered Erik to the point that he had simply washed his hands of her? She somehow could not believe it. For the sake of her own sanity, she _refused_ to believe it. But he had left without a word of his whereabouts, or his plans for the future. She felt stranded.

Later that afternoon, Marie returned with her husband, Francois. He was sweet and affable, his soft brown eyes twinkling when he greeted Christine. "It is so good to see that my brother-in-law has finally found himself a young lady to settle down with."

The thought made her blood run cold.

Time was slipping away like sand through her powerless fingers. Raoul was planning to announce their engagement at the ball, and if she begged him not to he would be upset and confused. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt somebody else.

Raoul himself visited for dinner that evening. The presence of her childhood friend did not put her at ease, like it used to. He seemed to sense her restlessness and inquired as to the source of it. Of course, she wouldn't speak of Erik; she instead talked about another subject that had been a mild worry to her, to distract him from her real problems.

"Raoul… I admit, I feel a bit anxious about this ball," she said as they walked together in the back garden after finishing the sumptuous roast dinner. "I am just an opera singer, and I've already seen the way many of the society women look down on me. I must say, I am anticipating a number of snubs!"

Raoul took her arm comfortingly. "Dearest, don't fret. Marie and I will be with you all the time, and nobody will dare offend you while we are at your back!"

He grinned confidently in the dusky twilight. Christine gave him an empty smile, but it seemed that guilt permeated every step she took with him across the manicured lawn. She felt a soul-deep tugging, to which direction she did not know; she just knew that it was away from here. A sisterly bond had grown between her and Marie, and she was content at the house – but Christine felt an urge to just disappear and take flight with the one with whom she truly belonged.

If he would have her back, that was. The thought of the other alternative made her shiver. She feared losing him like she had feared nothing before… _if it hurts this much for me, how much more did it hurt for Erik? _Her eyes prickled with tears for a moment. Erik had suffered by her hand far more than he had ever deserved. And all because he loved her…

He loved her.

That very thought made her suck in a deep breath of hopeful longing. She could not believe that Erik would abandon her. He loved her; she had no doubt of that. She could see it in his jade eyes, the quirk of his mouth, in his mellifluous voice and every nuance of his body language. She knew that he had poured his heart and soul into making her love him – and that he had succeeded! He _knew_ that she loved him! He would not – could not – cast it all aside so easily.

Raoul must have noticed the smile bloom on her face, and he squeezed the tips of her fingers. She gave him a brief smile, but instead his usual sunny grin, he returned a perturbed frown.

"Christine, is everything quite alright?"

She was a bit taken aback by the abrupt question. "Of course! Why do you ask?"

He glanced away and shrugged. "You seem very distracted. You were hardly paying attention to anything anybody said at dinner. A servant asked you if you would like more wine, and he had to say your name three times to catch your notice!"

"I apologize – that was rude of me." She fumbled for something else to say to fill the awkward pause. "I have just had a lot on my mind today."

"Not just today!" Raoul protested. "Well, especially today. But you often have a strange faraway look in your eyes, a wistful expression that makes me wonder what it is you are pining for."

She felt her cheeks grow warm, and was glad for the concealing light of dusk. "I am not pining for anything, Raoul. It is just… memories, that haunt me from time to time."

Raoul's expression grew sober; he slipped his arm around her waist and kissed her brow. "Dearest, feel free to confess all your sorrows to me," he replied in earnest. "I will be a good listener."

"Thank you, but there are some things I must deal with on my own."

He let out a little cry of frustration. "Christine, I cannot stand by and let you sink into melancholy!" He pulled away from her, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. "Please, reassure me at least of your health and happiness."

There was a heavy silence as he kicked at a clod of grass; she chewed at her lip, her heart panging in guilt at deceiving poor Raoul this way. After the space of several heartbeats she set her hand tentatively upon his shoulder.

"Raoul, I promise you, I am happy. I am safe and healthy, here with your dear sister. The past just takes time to fade."

He looked up at her undecidedly, his brows furrowed. "I just worry for you sometimes, Christine."

"I know, Raoul. I know." She looked away for a long moment, so long she thought she wouldn't speak again; but when she did, the words came tumbling out.

"Whatever happens, always know that I am grateful. And happy. And that I love you very much." She smiled reassuringly, albeit a bit hollowly, and he grinned with relief and embraced her.

_Those words are genuine, _she reflected as he held her. She did love him, but not in the way he believed. She was grateful to him and Marie, and she had been happy during her time spent at the house. But those short sentences somehow left her with an empty, restless feeling in the pit of her stomach. _Why does it seem like I'm saying goodbye?_

XXX

The next morning, an esteemed seamstress arrived at the house to tailor a pre-made gown to Marie's measurements. "I have finally decided!" she gushed as she preened in the mirror, pulling at the sky blue fabric swathed around her and yelping as the seamstress accidentally poked her with a needle.

However, she could not persuade her husband to have a new suit made for him. "It will not be finished in time!" Francois argued, "And besides, I have perfectly good suits already. Why, I have a coat that I have only worn once, to the Boucher's dinner party, do you remember that?" Marie huffed and sighed and pouted prettily but could not convince him; Christine and Raoul watched on with great amusement.

Raoul, for his part, had bought a deep yellow and gold waistcoat to match Christine's dress. She thought it a bit silly, but deigned not to say so, especially since he was so pleased about it.

The week seemed to fly by, punctuated by the delivery of Marie's gown and their frequent walks in the park. And though Christine's thoughts returned to Erik a frustrating amount of times, there was always yet another aspect of the ball to distract her. Marie chattered incessantly about the latest fashions in shoes and jewelry and hairpins – it was a wonder she did not tire. She also listed names of all the young and handsome noblemen who would be attending.

"I am a married woman," she said with a sly smile. "And this is your last ball before _you _become one. So you had best make it worth it!" The comment made Christine blush, but she couldn't help but laugh.

The day of the ball dawned bright and early. They weren't due to arrive at the Chagny mansion until quite a bit later that evening, but Christine was awakened prematurely by Marie's shrieks of dismay cutting through the languid morning air.

Alarmed that some accident had occurred, Christine didn't wait to dress but merely belted her robe and rushed down the hall to Marie's room – only to find Marie in tears over the broken clasp of the necklace she was planning to wear that evening, weeping in a frustrated heap on the end of her bed. Christine was a bit puzzled by the extreme reaction, but decided that it must be stress. She patted her soothingly on the shoulder and assured her that she would fix it – she located a needle and was able to wedge the clasp so it would work again. And the matter was solved.

There was no point in dressing for the ball at seven in the morning – although Marie did not quite seem to understand this concept – so the rest of the day was spent in eager anticipation. Marie sat for an hour with various lotions on her face and a strange smelling concoction in her blonde tresses. She insisted Christine do the same – "your last ball!" she kept saying – and although Christine insisted on foregoing the hair treatment, she let herself be cajoled into the lotions.

Marie fluttered about like an impatient bird until sunset, fussing with her hair and calling for her lady's maid to help her attempt yet another elaborate style. The clatter of hairpins could be heard every few minutes, accompanied by a perturbed "Try it again!" while Claudette helped Christine dress.

A few minutes after eight the butler announced that "Monsieur le Vicomte" was waiting with his carriage – Marie strung an elegant single-strand choker of pearls around Christine's neck and pronounced them both ready.

Christine took up her little mask and held it for a long moment, staring down at the black and gold satin before slipping it inside her cloak and following Marie and Francois out the front door, the pale golden fabric of her gown swishing behind her as she swept down the stairs towards the carriage.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: **What a shame – I was hoping that a certain part of this chapter would be a surprise. Well, I suppose it was pretty obvious what was going to happen. Enjoy anyway. And I apologize for that last dismal excuse of a chapter!

I'm going camping with my family for the next two weeks – so no updates until I get back. I'll be parted from my beloved computer, but I'll have a good old-fashioned notebook and pen, so I'll most undoubtedly have another chapter ready to type up.

Also, go read and review my other new one-shot, _Namesake._

aleema-darkrose1: Keep in mind; she's very young! Where on earth was she supposed to run off to? I'm just trying to keep her in character. She _is _somewhat shallow and weak-minded. And also, she doesn't hate Raoul or anything. Even though she isn't in love with him, she still thinks of him as a good friend. Anyway, you'll just see what happens in these next couple chapters. :)

LoverofBalto: It seems as if everybody's already guessed. :sigh:

PhantomsHeart: Yes, I fence. And hurrah for DF:)

C.E. Hobbit: No problem. Gotta share the Kay love!

Aratari: In my mind, I have an image of Marie as very nice and kind but also a bit girly and excitable and eccentric. lol!

Nade-Naberrie: I am **so **glad somebody recognized what I was trying to portray! About how Christine would've lived her life. Sometimes I wonder if my little "undertones" are overlooked. :) And thanks about Raoul. I hate it when writers make him all abusive and evil. It may be very convenient for an E/C ending, but it just doesn't fit him.

Chapter 25 

The carriage ride to the Chagny mansion was a boisterous one – Christine's spirits were lifted by the lively banter between the family members, and though she had been somewhat melancholy that day, she found herself being easily caught up in the vibrant atmosphere.

She could hear the party before they reached it, the laughter and loud voices infiltrating the evening air and wafting through the streets. She craned her head against the window to see the manor come into view, the elaborate sculpture and moldings illuminated by the brilliant light shining through the many windows. She felt trepidation rise in her throat at the sight of the elegantly wrought balustrades and the looming stone façade – _why do you care? You know you won't marry Raoul, these people mean nothing _– but she pushed all anxious thoughts away, determined to enjoy the evening.

The carriage swept through the circular drive and the moment it stopped, a footman in livery hurried forward and opened the door, springing back to let the ladies out. Gravel crunched beneath Christine's feet as the group moved towards the wide set of stairs, light spilling out through the huge front doors and making her squint. Elegantly dressed men and women brushed past them, smiling widely and nodding as they greeted various other people. Almost all were wearing the tiny masks Christine had seen in shops for the past few weeks.

Her excitement was momentarily suppressed by as they reached the top of the stairs, and Raoul, seeming to sense her apprehension, slipped his arm through hers. "Relax, dear. There's no need to worry!"

She gave him a hesitant smile as they swept in through the doors.

The rooms were crowded with people; a feeling of great gaiety hummed through the air, and all around there were knots of people talking away as though starved for gossip. An attendant came to take their coats and hats, and she slipped on the little mask before giving the cloak to him. The mask covered very little of her face – mainly just her eyes and upper nose – but it gave her a strange feeling of protection, and she was pleased to have it in these strange surroundings.

"Would you like to meet my parents?" Raoul said into her ear. Christine glanced over at Marie – she and Francois had been immediately flocked to and they were busily chattering away. "Come," Raoul said, without giving her a chance to answer. "I'm sure they are in the ballroom."

As he led her through the throng, Christine stared at the graceful carvings on the high ceilings and ornate curtains and paintings. Certainly, Marie and her husband were very well off – he was a member of the gentry, after all – but she still marveled at the affluence displayed in the Chagny mansion, both in the décor and the ball's attendees. The ladies were draped in jewelry, swathed in rich fabrics and adorned with elegant baubles. She was no connoisseur on clothing, but during her weeks with Marie she had certainly learned more than ever before, and she could see wealth in the slightest cut of a tailcoat or an extra piece of fringe of a lady's dress.

"My dear nephew!" Raoul stopped short as he was approached by a middle-aged lady in an extraordinarily flounced and ruffled lavender gown and a mask to match. He took her hands and kissed her on both cheeks; "Good evening, Aunt!" he exclaimed, beaming down at her rounded wrinkled face. "Are you having a good time?"

"Yes indeed," she replied, dabbing at her nose with a lacy handkerchief, "Quite a bit rowdier than we used to be in my day, but enjoyable nonetheless!" She peered at Christine for a moment before Raoul introduced them.

"Christine, this is my mother's sister, Madame Claire Cherbourg. Aunt, this is Christine Daae – my fiancée".

Madame Cherbourg eyed her for a moment before saying slowly, "Ah, the singer?"

Christine swallowed and nodded. "Yes. A pleasure to meet you, Madame."

"A pretty thing, isn't she?" Madame Cherbourg replied in a somewhat patronizing voice.

Christine blushed, and Raoul smiled. "Yes, she is, isn't she? Now, if you'll excuse us, we're off to find my parents."

"That was dreadfully embarrassing," Christine muttered, clutching at Raoul's arm to avoid losing each other as they wove through the crowd. "It was obvious that she didn't like me at all."

"Nonsense. Aunt is always like that at first with everybody she meets."

Before they reached the ballroom, Raoul was stopped twice more and Christine was introduced to a Monsieur Chalutier – who looked her up and down in a rather suggestive way, and asked that she pen his name on her dance card – and a pair of giggling girls her age who flirted with Raoul in a way that would've made Christine quite jealous if she really were intending to marry him.

When they entered the ballroom, Christine couldn't help but gasp. The ceiling soared above her, the vast dome painted with cherubs and angels and a cloud-dotted blue sky. The huge room had a marble floor that shone in the bright light, and slender white columns flanked the two doorways – one of them being the entrance they stood in now, and the other being an exit to the vast gardens that she could just see through the wide doorway on the opposite side of the ballroom.

Musicians in tailcoats played a familiar waltz in the corner while couples swept across the room like a fairytale parade. But she was startled from her reverie at the enchanting sight when Raoul exclaimed, "Ah, Christine, here are my parents!"

Christine turned to see the Chagnys standing before her. "Mother, Father," Raoul was saying, "This is my fiancée, whom you have heard so much about. Christine, these are my parents, the Comte and Comtesse Philibert and Moerogis de Chagny."

The Comtesse reminded her of a statue – tall, grand, beautiful, but with little expression on her face and a coldness about her. She wore no mask, and her eyes regarded Christine coolly as she nodded in her direction. Christine bobbed her head nervously, feeling somehow like a small child who had just been reprimanded. "It is… nice to finally meet you, Miss Daae," the Comtesse said softly, but despite her quiet tone her voice carried a certain condescending authority, along with all her culture and high breeding.

"And you, Comtesse," Christine replied. The Comte was not so forbidding – he had soft blue eyes that matched Raoul's exactly, and what seemed like an easy, straightforward disposition. "If my son wants to marry a singer, well then, I suppose that's his own business," he said with a shrug, gaining him a shocked glare from the Comtesse and a blush from Christine. But there was no malice in his words, and though he eyed her calmly and aloofly, she sensed a friendliness about him.

The Chagnys were soon distracted by another couple; Christine was pleased that she had been able to retain her dignity throughout the meeting. "Shall we dance?" Raoul asked, and, with a smile, she agreed.

"There, that was not so bad, was it?" he said as he led her out onto the floor.

"No," she agreed, slipping the loop of her gown over her wrist as to not trip over her train as she danced. She smiled at the familiar strains of the waltz, and Raoul grinned back at her, taking her hand and sweeping her across the floor.

When the set was over, Raoul went to fetch them both refreshments. While he was gone Christine danced with three other men, including the unavoidable young Monsieur Chalutier, who boasted of his houses and horses during the entire set. He was attempting to insist on another dance when luckily Raoul returned with the drinks. Christine was most grateful for the rescue, and told Raoul so, and he laughed.

"Chalutier is a cad," he chuckled as he downed his drink.

"That I could see," Christine declared, and Raoul smiled and guided her out onto the floor

"After this set, I'll introduce you to the rest of my family," he said thoughtfully as they glided across the marble floor, settling into the pattern and steps of the waltz. "Then, before the start of the midnight supper, I shall announce our engagement! How does that sound?"

Christine's heart began to beat wildly in her chest – she stared up at Raoul's black and white mask, into the shining blue eyes behind it. "I…" the words caught in her throat.

"Yes?" he pressed.

"Just… please don't, Raoul!" The exclamation spilled out and she nearly tripped over her feet as he stopped her.

"What?"

She glanced around – they were in the middle of the floor, and Raoul stared at her for a moment before taking up her hand again.

"Christine," he began bemusedly as they spun slowly around the room. "Why ever don't you want me to announce our engagement?"

She couldn't give him a valid reason – at least, not one that he would accept. She couldn't tell him the truth; who knew what he would do? It endangered both Erik and herself.

"Raoul, I… I…" Nothing came to her lips, and she was left gaping like a fish as Raoul stared down at her. She felt suddenly stifled by the crowded ballroom.

"I need some air," she faltered, dropping Raoul's hand and heading towards the exit. "Please, give me a moment…" Raoul tried to follow her but she waved him off, dashing quickly between the dancers.

She hurried out the doorway and out onto the wide terrace, sucking in a breath of the cool night air. God, what was she to do? How could she blatantly tell Raoul to call off their engagement?

She went to rub her eyes but found the mask obstructing her way. "Ridiculous thing," she muttered as she slipped it off, massaging her eyes with her fingertips as she walked along the gravel pathway.

Even this brief respite in the garden was refreshing – the hedges were tall and neatly clipped, forming a sort of small maze surrounded by walkways and flowers, benches and trees and several fountains. It was beautiful under the sliver of moon; maybe she would walk here later tonight. But now, she must return; Raoul would come and fetch her if she did not.

With a sigh, she turned back to the house, gathering her skirts in one hand as she stepped up through the doorway. Raoul was off in a corner joking loudly with several other young men; she replaced her mask and sank into one of the velvet-padded chairs to watch the dancers spin by. There was a group of young women sitting close to her who began whispering immediately; Christine tried her best to ignore them. Although she knew these girls meant nothing – especially since she would not marry Raoul – it is never a pleasant task to sit calmly while you know you are being gossiped about.

Christine was tapping her feet to the lively tune, humming under her breath, when she saw Raoul gesturing to her from the other side of the room. She raised her hand to let him know she was coming, deciding to wait until the dance was over to more easily move amongst the crowd. He nodded and smiled at her, and turned back to his companions.

She had only a minute or two to wait until the set was over, and she stood to make her way along the wall towards Raoul. Another waltz was starting, and she didn't want to be caught up in the flurry of whirling skirts and gliding couples.

Abruptly her hand was snatched up and she stumbled over the hem of her gown as she was pulled out onto the floor and up against a man's chest.

"Monsieur!" she protested as she attempted to get her bearings, struggling to find her feet as the stranger twirled her gracefully around the vast room. She caught up her gown quickly with her hand and slipped the loop over her wrist, becoming lightheaded for a moment as the floor seemed to spin beneath her feet. She turned her gaze to the strange man who held her. "Monsieur, if you wanted to dance, you need only have… asked…"

Her sentence trailed away as she stared up at the black mask that covered the man's face. It was much larger than the petite masks of the others… _larger than the mask of Don Juan_, she found herself thinking. But it wasn't the mask that kept her gaze riveted – it was the jade eyes behind them that made her gasp in recognition.

"Erik," she whispered, and a tiny smirk appeared on that face she knew so well.

"I do believe this is the second party I've attended without an invitation," he murmured. "I hope you'll forgive me."

"Oh – don't tease me!" she gasped, letting her forehead touch his shoulder for a moment as he tightened his hand on her waist. She raised her head and stared at him again. "It _is_ you!"

"How good of you to notice," he replied, his expression solemn but a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

"Erik, I…" she sucked in a breath. "I can't talk like this, while we're dancing; I'll get dizzy. Please, can we go outside?"

"Why of course." Erik let her go and gestured for her to precede him; with one last glance at him she hurried out to the gardens.

As soon as the darkness enveloped her she whirled to face him, grasping the lapels of his jacket and pressing her cheek to his chest. They stood in silence for a long, long moment. She could hear crickets in the garden, and the faint laughter of people strolling along the walkways and hedges.

"Oh, Erik," she whispered, "I'm sorry… so sorry for everything…"

She felt his hands on the small of her back, and the gesture seemed to spur her on. "I was afraid," she continued, "So afraid you had just left for good! That you had become sick of me, sick of my childishness and all the silly things I do, and everything I ever did that hurt you – "

"Hush," he said firmly. "You're rambling. If you don't cease and desist, I really shall leave you." She let out a muffled laugh into his jacket.

"Oh, how I've missed you," she murmured, snaking her arms around his neck and holding him close. "It was so hard after what… happened, in my room."

He was silent. "Christine – I've done atrocious things. I wouldn't blame you if you could not find it in you to forgive me."

"It is not you that needs forgiving." she pulled back, staring into his shadowy face. "I have had a lot of time to think, Erik. And I know now… it is I that must beg your apology."

He looked startled and wary. "Pray, continue."

She swallowed. "I am the one who has done terrible things. I know that I've hurt you… for the few times you've hurt me, I've wounded you tenfold."

He barked out a disbelieving laugh. "I cannot believe I'm hearing this."

"Does it shock you so?"

"Yes. You're telling me that all the butcheries I have committed are no worse than the things you've done in your mere naivety?"

"They are different… in a way."

A giggling young couple brushed past them, and Erik murmured, "Perhaps we should relocate ourselves." He slipped his arm through hers and they moved off down one of the wide gravel walkway that wound through the garden. In a grove of blossoming trees there was a bench, and he drew her down to sit on it.

There was quiet for a while. They could hear the noise emanating from the Chagny house, the strains of the music and the lively laughter.

After a time she cleared her throat, linking her hands loosely in her lap. "I want things to be as they were before, Erik," she began.

"When you thought I was an angel sent by your late father?"

She frowned at him, but her mouth couldn't help but twist into a smile at the sight of the twinkle in his eyes.

"Don't mock me! You know perfectly well what I meant."

He sobered. "I do. But it may not be possible for things to continue as they were."

"Why not?"

"You know more about my past than you most likely ever wanted to. That surely will change your perspective of me."

She opened her mouth to protest but he silenced her with a severe look. "Let me finish."

He took a deep breath and continued. "I've killed both in the distant and recent past. I don't expect you will ever forget it. I just beg you to forgive it."

"But, Erik, I have forgiven you – "

"I didn't say to forgive _me… _I said to forgive my actions. Those are two entirely different things. I just ask you to put those memories aside and look at me for what I am now, not what I was then."

She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Of course, Erik," she whispered, a tentative smile blossoming on her face. "Sometimes I feel… I could forgive you anything. And I _do_. All that happened in Persia… Joseph Buquet, Piangi… the morphine – "

"What?" His back was suddenly ramrod straight, and he stared down at her with startled dismay. "What do you know about – the morphine?"

She bit her lip. "I… I saw the bruises. On your arm. I didn't know what they were at first, but later I recalled seeing similar marks before on a baritone who eventually left the Opera... Paul d'Auger, do you remember him?"

Erik nodded distractedly, and Christine continued. "Well, after he left, one of the other dancers mentioned that he had been caught with morphine more than once. And I knew then that that was where those marks had come from."

She finished, and Erik was quiet for a moment, gazing off into the nearby trees that hid them from view of the manor. "You know about the morphine," he breathed, "And you don't care?"

"I care – but it won't stop me from loving you." She looked away for a heartbeat or two. "But what is astonishing is that you still continue to love _me."_

He let out a sound of derision. "What on earth could have planted that idea in your head?"

"Well, the rage that you flew into, for one."

His jaw tightened. "I was angry at you, yes – very angry, I will admit. But did you honestly think I would abandon you out of pride, or resentment, or whatever you thought it was?"

She didn't reply, and there was a long silence as they merely eyed each other, their expressions speaking volumes that simple speech could never attempt. After a pause Erik extended his hand slowly to her face, brushing his knuckles along her jaw line. A stray curl had loosened itself from her elegant chignon, and he rubbed it between his fingers for a moment before tucking it behind her ear.

"If you ever thought I would leave you, Christine," he said softly, "Then you are indeed a very silly girl."

He let his fingers fall from her cheek, clasping her hand in both of his and bringing it to his lips. "As you are mine," he murmured, placing a soft kiss on her knuckles. "I am yours."

Christine had tilted her head forward to press her lips to his when they heard the sound of scuffing gravel, and turned their heads to see Raoul in a dead halt with an expression of utter shock on his masked face.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: **I'm still a little iffy about this chapter… but I've been working on it for more than two weeks, so I suppose this is the best I'll do. Also… I'll give you a cookie if you can spot the unintentional line from Pirates of the Caribbean and the intentional line from Man in the Iron Mask.

Meghankatherine: I know… I feel really bad for him, too:(

angel of the stage: What, did you think the summary sucked or something? lol! Also, in the Kay book, Erik uses a needle to shoot the morphine into his veins. And don't worry, this is the second to last chapter. :claps hand over mouth: oops… did that just slip out?

Emily singing reflection: No worries!

PhantomsHeart: Try going to a smaller video rental place…. the local Blockbuster here doesn't have it, but a smaller rental store does. I saw a poster for it in the window as we drove by, and I shrieked out loud and nearly made my mom run off the road…

Nekona: Well hello, hello! Glad to see I'm not on the "wankable" list. Well, I'm sure there are some wankable lines… as there are in all fics…

erik'sangel527: I'm amazed I have so many reviews… but I'm so grateful for them!

NinetalesLuver: Well I'm very "into" the 19th century, so I already knew the details… but thanks! I dislike reading fics where there's an overload of historical inaccuracies.

Arwen1604: Wow, long review! But thank you so much for everything you said!

Chapter 26 

Raoul merely stood and stared. Erik's grip on Christine's hand grew tighter, and she was aware of a slight lift in his chin, a straightening of his back as Raoul gaped at them soundlessly.

Christine sat frozen, as if molded to the stone bench, adrenaline needling through her veins, her pulse drumming in her ears. She was broken from her stupor when Erik dropped her hand and rose to his feet.

"Well well, we meet once more, Monsieur le Vicomte." He spat the words like they were poisonous. Raoul's eyes grew larger, if such a thing were possible.

"Y-you – " Raoul stammered, staring at him in disbelief. "You're supposed to be dead!"

Erik spread his hands. "An unfortunate oversight on your part, Chagny. The men you picked for the task, although clearly eager to dispose of a monster such as myself, were young and incompetent and obviously found it unnecessary to check that their 'prisoner' was… fully dead."

As Erik spoke, Raoul's stunned expression twisted to one of anger, dismay… and hurt. "Christine…"

Christine's insides wrenched at the sight of his face, and she stood, stretching one arm out to him helplessly. "Raoul, I – "

"It's him!" Raoul declared desperately, "He's put a spell on you, he has done it again… Christine…" But he was making excuses, and it was obvious to all three that he knew it. His desperate words of denial trailed off and he gritted his jaw forcefully, but Christine could see it tremble.

"Oh, Raoul…" her voice quavered unsteadily and she forced back tears. God, what had she done? She moved to go to him, but Raoul took several steps back.

"That man – " he jabbed a shaking finger at Erik. "He has ruined everything! Heaven only knows what he does; it's his voice, that unnatural voice, it enslaves you somehow, I've seen it!"

"Monsieur, you are talking like a madman." Erik's voice cut through the night air. "I assure you she is with me of her own free will, and I exert no hold over her."

"It isn't true." Raoul drew himself up to his full height, eyeing Erik contemptuously. "She cannot love you. How can a woman love a mask?"

"I wear the mask," Erik said scornfully, "It does not wear me."

"He's a murderer." Raoul's show of bravado was slipping now, the fearless pretense contradicted by the desperation in his eyes. "Buquet, Piangi… who knows how many others! You have seen him kill, Christine!"

"I know, Raoul." To her surprise, her voice came out strong and clear, belying her inner turmoil. "That was in the past, and now – "

"_In the past? _It was mere months ago! You forget how afraid you were of him, how frightened you were that he would spirit you away…" His tone was almost childishly frantic now, and, looking at him, Christine could easily see that little boy who had run into the sea to fetch her scarf.

Raoul laughed despairingly. "You were terrified! Maybe someday he will turn on you, and your fears would not have be for nothing – "

"You are making a grave mistake in insinuating that I would ever hurt Christine," Erik interrupted, his eyes flashing. "I suggest you cease and desist your ranting." Despite his cold words, Christine could see a touch of pity in his eyes. But her attention was torn away once more.

"I am going," Raoul cried, tearing off his little mask and flinging it to the ground. "I am going to fetch the gendarmes… somebody! This man must be locked away."

"No, Raoul!" Christine cried, running towards him and grabbing at his arm. "Please, don't go!"

"Why not? Why shouldn't I? It's obvious that this man is dangerous – " His voice cracked. "And even more obvious that I'm not wanted here." Raoul threw off her hand and stalked away through the maze.

Tears choked Christine's throat, and she whirled around to face Erik. "He was my dearest friend… and now I've hurt him," she whispered. "What… what do I do?"

Erik just watched her, emotions playing over his face. "That decision is in your hands, not mine." He was at her side in a moment, turning her towards the direction Raoul had gone. "Go to him, Christine."

His lips were at her ear suddenly. "And remember – I will come for you."

She turned to him but he had gone, disappeared into shadows like an apparition in the night.

She wanted to fling herself on the bench and weep and sort out her frantically racing thoughts, but there was no time for hysterics and she picked up her skirts and hurried through the maze, calling Raoul's name.

She caught up to him before he entered the manor and she dashed in front of him, lungs heaving for air.

"Raoul, Raoul," she cried after she had caught her breath, "I wish I had found the courage to tell you the truth!"

He met her eyes, staring at her in disbelief. "Christine, how... how could you?"

Instead of the anger she had been expecting, his face was devoid of the rage of only moments before, and was replaced by an expression of anguish and wounded betrayal. His uncharacteristic hostility had been only a façade.

His face and words tore at her conscience and, at that moment, she felt most deserving of every sharp pang of guilt. "I don't know," she said tremulously, "I just… I just couldn't bring myself to! I didn't know if you would try to hurt Erik again – "

"Only to protect _you_," Raoul interrupted.

Christine pressed her hands to her mouth for a moment. "I just… what could I have said?"

"Christine – what a fool I've been." Raoul's straight shoulders sagged and he put his hand to his forehead.

"Oh, Raoul, I deserve the worst from you," she cried. "I should never have lied to you. I should have been truthful and spared you this horrible… revelation."

He pulled away from the doorway and took her hands. She saw a shimmer of tears in his eyes, reflected from the light spilling from the house, and she pressed her quavering lips together to hold back her own. "Raoul, forgive me, please forgive me…"

"Of course, Christine." His smile was small and wistful. "I could never begrudge you anything." She let out a cry of despair and threw her arms around him.

"I should've known," he continued, his voice a sad and desolate monotone. "I suppose I… I always knew. He was always there, lingering just below the surface of your thoughts, wasn't he? I thought very little about it then, but now…"

"But… if you knew, why didn't you say anything?"

Raoul shrugged despondently. "It was easier just to convince myself that you were suffering from the after effects of a horrible event. How wrong I was…"

"Oh, Raoul," she whispered. "I always was the silly Little Lotte, wasn't I?"

The pair both smiled in nostalgia. "And I know that a long time ago, we would have thought this such a grand adventure," Raoul replied.

Christine pressed her forehead to his. "You will find a wonderful wife, Raoul," she said softly. "Perhaps a sweet young debutante. And you'll be very happy together. I can see it now… a houseful of little Chagnys, running amok."

"I very much doubt that – I'm sure they will be kept in check by the indomitable nanny." He smiled wistfully again. "Christine, if you ever are in trouble… if you ever need anything… you know you can always find me."

Christine felt her eyes fill with tears. "Of course," she whispered. She pressed her lips to his cheek, and they embraced like a pair of innocent children who had most suddenly been introduced to the sorrows of the world.

"I love you, Raoul."

He kissed her curls. "I love you too, Lotte."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: **I just want to say THANK YOU so much to all the reviewers and everyone who has encouraged me, supported me, given me thoughts and advice, and made me laugh. I honestly thought that nobody would read this… now I have more than 800 reviews, and I'm not only astounded at the number, but how good 99.9 of them are! I feel really sad updating the final chapter… I mean, this fic was like my baby for more than five months, and now its over! hums it's over now, the music of the niiiight… But thanks for coming along for the ride… and I hope to see you again next time. Make sure you put me on your author alert list – because this won't be the last you'll hear of me:D

Emily singing reflection: Hmm… is that a good "ahh" or a bad "ahh"?

Misty Breyer: I mean, Erik knows what its like to have his love unrequited – so it only makes sense that he should feel sorry for Raoul!

MouetteHeartsErik: Now you've got me laughing, too!

mymagic: I was kinda opting for use of the phrase "If you love someone, let them go". Also, Raoul had kind of admitted to himself that Christine had loved Erik all along. :)

PhantomFan13: Why were you disappointed?

diveprincess:blink: umm… what didn't just happen? lol!

Phantomluvr: Aww, thanks.

LoverofBalto: When does she get Erik? She gets him… now.

Pirates are a girls bestfriend: I never liked Raoul much until I wrote this story, lol. And **YES YES YES**, I'll be writing more fics!

phantomann & soccernat11: It was just my opinion that he'd let Christine go graciously… because he is just that, a gentleman. And he wants her to be happy. :)

Missie-My-Dear, Erik'sTrueAngel, C.E. Hobbit & tumblingxdown: Cookies for you!

groundedangel: I can't stand abusive/violent Raoul!

Captain Oblivious & Lady Skywalker: Well I think Erik's got it through his head now that she loves Raoul in a more "platonic" sort of way. :)

tumblingxdown: No, I didn't know that… but I do now!

Reltistic: That was what I was trying to convey. :)

Chapter 27 

Raoul led Christine out of the ballroom and back through the drawing rooms, making excuses when other partygoers stopped them. "Mademoiselle Daae is feeling ill," he would murmur, and people would nod and move politely out of their way, some eyeing Christine in speculation. After collecting her cloak Raoul had the carriage brought around, and helped Christine into it. After directing the driver to take her swiftly back to Francois and Marie's house, Raoul stood with his hands on the window frame, staring up at her.

"I hope we will meet again sometime soon," Christine said softly, placing her hand over his and gazing down at him.

"Yes." He was silent for a moment. "Are you sure this is what you want, Christine?"

She nodded. "Yes – I'm sure."

"Then… I wish you the best of everything, Christine."

She smiled and felt tears well up again. "Thank you – and the same for you, Raoul." He placed a gentle kiss on her knuckles and stepped away from the carriage, signaling to the driver and glancing once more at Christine. The corner of his mouth lifted in that boyish smile she knew so well, and the carriage lurched into movement and Raoul was swiftly out of view.

It seemed like only seconds until she was deposited back at the house. The butler inquired as to why she was back from the ball so early, and asked if she was unwell – she assured him she was fine and went straight up to her room.

Christine sank onto the bed, not caring that she was crushing the fine material of her gown. She felt emotionally ravaged; her hands were trembling, and she wanted to crawl under the cool covers and hide away until morning. Her childhood friend was gone now – would she ever see him again? Guilt weighed heavily on her, assuaged only by Raoul's gracious acceptance of her choice and the knowledge that he bore no grudge against her.

_I should've known… I suppose I… I always knew._

His words echoed in her head. But she was sure he would easily find another young lady to share his life with – one that he loved more than her, no doubt of it. Their love had always been such a sweet and platonic kind… so different from the soul-deep bond that existed between Erik and her. She only hoped that one day she would see Raoul again – he had been such a large part of her life, for so long. She could remember the day they met as if it were yesterday…

The little girl meandered across the sand and rocks of the shore, singing a tune to herself under her breath. The wind caught at her curls and tossed them this way and that, the faint cry of gulls and the rush of the waves all but drowning out her pure yet childish voice.  
The wind was blowing harder, and it whistled in through her clothes and chilled her. But she was determined not to go home just yet, and she pulled her coat closer around her and unwound her scarf for a moment in order to secure it more tightly.  
A sharp gust of cold air burst against her suddenly and snatched up the scarf – she cried out, but the wind was heedless to her plea and it buffeted the scarf out into the waves where it landed, a patch of red amongst the frothy dark sea. 

_The child felt tears welling up in her eyes – her father had given the scarf to her as a present, and now she would never get it back! But before she could turn to run home in distress, she heard a determined little voice behind her shout, "I'll fetch your scarf!"_

_She turned in surprise to see a young boy dash past her, and an older woman behind calling out indignantly for him to stop. But the boy plunged on ahead into the icy water, stretching his arms out as he plowed through the waves and grabbed onto the scarf before it disappeared beneath the sea. _

_The little girl let out a cry of delight and ran down to the water's edge as the boy made his way back to shore, sopping wet but with the scarf gripped tightly in his hand and an expression of triumph on his face. _

"_There, you see," he said exultantly, "I have rescued it!" He wrung the soaking material out and handed it to her – she giggled joyfully and kissed his cheek, much to his surprise. _

"_Thank you, I would have been so very sad if I had lost it – " _

_She was interrupted by the lady in black rushing up to the boy. "Master Raoul!" she fussed, "What a rash thing to do! You'll catch your death!"_

_Raoul looked at the lady and laughed boyishly. "I am sorry, but I couldn't let the scarf be swept away!"_

_He looked back at the little girl. "What is your name?"_

_She smiled shyly. "Christine Daae."_

"_This is my governess, and I am Raoul de Chagny." Christine thought the name sounded very important indeed – but the boy did not seem at all arrogant, in fact quite the opposite with his soaking clothes, mischievous grin and blond hair plastered to his face._

_The governess was ushering him away, berating him for his recklessness, but he called back, "Maybe I will see you sometime?"_

_Christine smiled after him, clutching the sodden scarf in both hands. "Perhaps!"_

A wide grin spread across her face at the memory. A dozen others seemed to fly into her mind…

_Christine ran after Raoul as he leapt up the steps to a little cottage, knocking on the door without hesitating. An older woman answered it, raising her eyebrows when she saw the two children on her doorstep._

"_Please, Madame," Raoul asked, "Do you have story to tell us?" _

Oh, she could remember that very well – on rare occasions the door would be shut in their faces, but most often the kindly folk of the village would smile and indulge them in their request…

_The pair sat on the grassy cliff overlooking the moonlit beach, their eyes trained on the circle of mushrooms a little ways away. They had both snuck out from their respective houses to come and see the faeries. They had been told a story that day about the faeries and "korrigans" that danced by night on the heather. Both were determined to see them._

"_I'm cold, Raoul," Christine whispered. "And I can't see. Its too dark!"_

"_We'll see them," he replied resolutely, with that firm set to his jaw that was becoming so familiar to her, "We'll see them once they come! And here – " he shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her. "You should have brought a coat. But don't talk anymore, or you'll frighten them away!"_

_Much to the chagrin of the two children, no faeries appeared that night, and were both given a sound scolding by their households once they were caught slipping through their windows. _

"_Next time," Raoul said determinedly as soon as their separate punishments had ended and they were allowed to see each other once more. "We'll see them dance the next time!" _

She nearly laughed out loud at the memory. Oh, she would miss him so much…

But it was Erik's words that slipped into her reflections and brought her back to the present.

_I will come for you…_

The thought made her sit up straight on the bed. She and Erik had been parted too long, and she yearned at the thought of his presence. _I will come for you…_ when? Where? Oh, he loved to keep her on tenterhooks!

But as she sat and pondered, the answer became slowly clear – he would come _here_, to this house. He knew she would be here; where else would he expect to find her in order to her away?

The thought filled her with apprehension and exhilaration; now that the idea had planted itself in her mind, she felt sure of his intentions.

She gazed around the room that had been her home for these past weeks. It felt strange to realize that she would be leaving it behind. And it was not just this house that she would leave behind… it was her whole world, everything she knew and had ever known. The notion was daunting and somewhat frightening.

She thought of Meg; her first friend when she had come to the Opera. She remembered how they would sit up late in the dormitories and whisper with the other girls and gossip and play games to determine who they would marry. A particular favorite was sticking two apple seeds on either cheek, naming each one after a man, and whichever one stayed the longest was your true love.

She thought of Madame Giry; of her intense desire for perfection in all the dancers, and will to obtain it at all costs, even if it meant keeping a girl hours after practice! But that formidable sternness hid a kindly nature; after all, it was she who had brought Christine to the Opera in the first place.

She thought of Carlotta and the Opera managers; now that were a group she did not mind saying goodbye to! But, in her heart of hearts, she knew that she would miss the familiarity of their boisterousness, even if not the actual people themselves.

She thought of that first night on stage – Carlotta had abdicated her throne of reigning diva, even if only for a little while, and, somehow, she had taken Carlotta's place. That night had been somehow enchanted – the bright footlights, the extravagant gown, the audience's eyes all trained on her, the standing ovation she received at the end of the aria. And the knowledge that somewhere, her angel was listening, and she was sure he would be pleased with her performance.

She remembered that night – her angel had made himself manifest and led down all those stories beneath the opera house to that magical place on the lake. The next day it had seemed hazy, but now she could remember it all too clearly. She could remember it all – the enchantment of that first night in his lair, the shock of the following morning… her fear after Buquet's death, the solace she sought in Raoul's arms… the duel in the cemetery, the passion and fire of _Don Juan_… the intensity afterwards in his lair; Raoul's pleas, her begging, Erik's rage… the kiss that followed, the moment of truth, the realization of where her heart truly belonged…

Memories flooded her and she felt each emotion touch her once more as if reliving the event. Such force, such intensity, such passion and fear and rage and love… it overwhelmed her to look back on it. Who ever would have guessed she would end up where she was now!

For a fraction of a second, the thought flitted through her mind – _is this really what you want to do? _But it was gone almost before the sentence completed itself. She knew, deep in her gut that this _was _what she wanted. It was not so long ago that she had been afraid of Erik… but that emotion seemed almost alien to her now. She trusted Erik, and knew he would never hurt her and that he would always be by her side to protect her. Music was her passion, and Erik's too – together they would create such beautiful compositions. She could picture now his fingers dancing along the piano, his hand flying across a sheet of paper as he scribbled down the notes as she sang them. _Will we have children?_ she suddenly wondered. She could only imagine his hesitancy and tentativeness with a child. The idea made her smile.

Eternity seemed to yawn before her as she contemplated life with Erik; and the reflection left her with a content, blissful feeling in the pit of her stomach – along with that touch of exhilaration he always awakened in her. Yes, she knew just what she was doing – and she welcomed the idea of her future with open arms. _Erik…_

Her romancing was suddenly interrupted by the thought of Marie; her bright eyes and ready grin, her energetic charm, her never-ending eagerness to buy hats and shawls and ribbons… on impulse, Christine got up and tiptoed down the hall, retrieving writing supplies from Marie's room and returning to her own, sitting at the vanity table and composing a short note to her.

_Marie,_

_By now I am sure that Raoul will have related the situation to you. I am not sure what your reaction will be – I can only hope that he will have explained enough so that you know of the background to my actions. You have been so dear to me, taking me under your roof and treating me as if I were a part of your family. I doubt I can ever repay your kindness. I know that I shall miss you; perhaps we will meet again sometime._

_Always,_

_Christine Daae_

She signed the note with a flourish, folding it in thirds and setting it on the corner of the vanity table, neatly propped against the jewelry box. She was about to rise and go to the wardrobe and undress… when, suddenly, it seemed that she could hear a soft sound, all around her… confused, she tilted her head to the side to listen. The tune was almost inaudible, but familiar; the sound grew stronger and she could recognize it now, an old song from the Opera. She was puzzled for a moment, until the sound became more and more discernable, evolving from a mere tune into a faint _singing_… yes, it was an actual voice! Growing louder and louder, drawing closer and closer to her… a very _familiar voice_… one she knew all too well…

Christine smiled.

**FIN**


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